


The Life and Times of Jackson Overland Frost

by dragonraptyr



Category: Guardians of Childhood & Related Fandoms, Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 01:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 65
Words: 36,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16713973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonraptyr/pseuds/dragonraptyr
Summary: A series of drabbles and short stories revolving around the life and adventures of Jack Frost, and his friends and enemies. Inspired by the Twitter/Instagram of heybilljoyce. Requests/Prompts are now open.





	1. Moonbeam

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally created in October of 2015, in response to a series of Inktober drabbles posted by William Joyce. Since then, it's grown and evolved, and branched outwards in fascinating ways. Please enjoy.

He wakes, and there is nothing. Nothing but ice underfoot, and the silence, and the wind, and moonbeams fluttering about, racing and glinting off of soft snow that sparkles like a thousand diamonds.

He watches them, listening to their murmurs – and he can almost hear words, but not quite. Who am I? he asks them.

They hesitate, slowing for just a moment – but not quite – and do not answer. Instead, they flutter about, and then vanish into the night, leaving nought but gloom. And the moon looks down, its face bright, with moonbeams racing to and fro. And the moon whispers. A name, that isn't really a name. _Jack frost_. It tells him.

The name doesn't fit. He knows that. But when he tries to find which name does, no name springs to mind. Because there is nothing, nothing but ice and Frost.

Why am I being here? He asks. And the moonbeams have no answer. And the moon… The moon tries to speak, but there is so much pain! So much hurt! And Jack knows, that it is a question that the moon should not, cannot answer.

Jack will forget the pain, and the hurt. And he will ask again. And the moon will never answer, because there is too much pain there.

He climbs into the crook of a tree, and falls asleep there, cradled by moon as best it can. And the moon shines down, like the biggest, brightest Nightlight.

But Jack is already fast asleep, dreaming empty dreams.


	2. Tall or Small

They called it a Golden Age. Jack just snorts, and stretches out a slender finger, and freezes the inkwell solid. He's Tall, today, as big as he can make himself. And Mark, and Eddie, and Izzie can all see him, and call him Mis-ter Frost, all nice and proper.

They cannot see Jack Frost though. Cannot see him when he's Small, or not quite Tall enough. Can only see him when he's Mis-ter Frost. And that hurts, stings in a way he cannot soothe.

The papers call it a "Golden Age" that they're living in, and Jack is certain that they are not- not nearly happy enough, not nearly bright enough. He's not quite sure what sort of age they're in, only that it is not Golden. Because nothing gold can stay, and gold faded a long, long time ago.

He can hear boots tramping up the stairs, and he smiles. He pulls out a letter, with such words like "Marriage" and "Volcano" and other words, all written so very Tall. This will make for a very fine tale. And it's worth not being seen sometimes, if it means telling it.


	3. The Oak of Sorrows

They cannot see him. When he tries to reach out, they walk right through. And the sorrow of it, the pain, reaches out to try to drown him in its misery. The moon will grant him no answers, and there is no one to soothe the pain of the hurting.

 _No one? No one indeed._ The voice reaches out through the pain and the hurt, and steals some of it away. Not all of it, but enough. Enough to catch his ear, and make Jack listen.

It is not a physical voice, nor is it like the voice of the moon, or a moonbeam. But it is a voice. And if someone may talk to him, if someone can see and touch him, then he must follow.

This way. The voice beckons. And Jack leaps, and none can catch him. Not shadow, not light, no his own misery. And he outraces moonbeams, and nearly, nearly laughs.

He finds the tree on top of a hill, with Big knobbly Roots, like wizard's knees. Two knotholes like eyes peer down at him, with a big hollow gaping like a grin. _Hello._ The tree says, with its thinking-talk.

"Hello." Jack says back, with his speaking-talk. "You called me?"

 _I did._ The trees nods in the wind, and the world is painted in red and gold. _You needed me._

"I did?" Jack is confused, and remembers the tree taking his sorrow. "That was you?"

_That was me. I am known by my brethren as the Oak of Sorrows. And there are few sorrows out there that I cannot soothe. You, child, carry so many, and so deep. How could I not help?_

"Can you help the moon?" Jack asks, remembering how the pain would not let the moon answer him. "I think he needs more help than I do right now."

 _I cannot._ The Oak replies. _Were MiM to sleep in my hollow, or walk beneath my boughs, I could aid him. But a tree cannot touch the moon. So I cannot aid him._

"Oh." Jack taps his staff on the root, sending curls of frost racing around, winding as tight as his chest is right now.

Again, the tree reaches out, and pulls away his sorrow. _I cannot help MiM. But I can help you, Jack Frost, if you let me._

Jack agrees, feeling grief begin to close off his throat. He hops into the hollow, and curls up. It isn't quite a hug, but the Oak is more than willing to soothe the sorrows away.

And as Jack cries himself to sleep in the long, lonely night, the Oak sings in a voice of long ago.


	4. Buff or Fluff

Bunny frowned, mentally re-tallying the total number of eggs for the Easter egg hunts for the seventeenth time. He was certain that the ratios were off. But what was needed more? Hollow eggs? Surely not. There was an overabundance of those. It had to be something special. But what type of egg would be best to adjust the ratios with? Caramel? Marshmallow? Or some of his rather more exotic types?

"Hey there, Cottontail."

A blast of ice chilled Bunny's fur, and the Pooka swung around, looking slightly annoyed as Jack Frost stood on the tip of his staff, a rather overconfident smirk on his face. Bunny couldn't help but roll his eyes. "What are you doing here? Don't you have places to be? Games to play?"

"Yeah." Jack kicked up his staff, and started wandering around the Warren. "But there's no rules saying I can't visit my friends, is there?"

Bunny sighed. "Fine. Just don't touch anything. I've got a lot of work to do to make up for last Easter."

Jack nodded, and turned his attentions towards frosting over the Warrior eggs in stunning patterns of frost. Those eggs really did need polishing, though. Bunny would have to remember to make time to-

Jack was crouched down, looking at Bunny oddly. "Is something wrong?" the Pooka asked.

Jack shook his head. "Not wrong, it's just… you've started getting a bit…flabby."

Bunny stiffened, looking down at his belly. _Flabby_? He couldn't see it. "You're pulling my leg."

"Oh no." Jack said, his face the picture of innocence. "There's definitely some flab. I'd say someone's been having a little too much chocolate."

"I have not!" Bunny retorted. "I'll have you know that I hardly ever have chocolate. It has…consequences."

"Like you getting flabby." Jack grinned. "A flabby, fluffy, Bunny."

Bunny's ears twitched, and he tapped his foot on the ground. A tunnel opened up beneath Jack's feet, pulling the hapless boy in. As the tunnel closed, Bunny snorted, and rubbed a paw along his belly. "I am _not_ flabby!" he muttered under his breath.

That Easter saw Jack hunched in his Oak, watching in amusement as Bunny led his eggs to their hiding places, trying desperately to suck in his gut so that he wouldn't look _flabby_.


	5. Three Little Scaries

As much as the Oak of Sorrows _likes_ Jack, and will gladly siphon off the boy's hurt and pain, its little friend has been spending far too much time in its hollow of late. Nearly every leaf has fallen from its branches, and the first dregs of winter will be arriving soon.

_Jack. Wake up, Jack._ It tells him, branches shaking in the wind.

Jack stirs, and crawls out of the hollow, perching on the biggest root, and looking up at the wise old tree. "What is it?" he asks curiously, looking so very Small.

_It is past time for you to be up and about._ The Oak tells him gently. Jack rubs his chest, frowning at half-remembered pain.

"No one will see me. No one ever sees me, but you."

_There are others who can, if you look for them._ It lifts the Oak's heart to see the smile that blooms on Jack's face, like the first touch of frost. _Do not look among the realm of Man. To find what you seek, you must look to where you dwell._

Jack bounces about, dancing up and down the Oak's branches. "That's okay. So long as they can see me. And feel me!"

_Not all you meet tonight will be friendly, Jack. For today, even the moonbeams look to mischiefs, and foul things are afoot._

Jack shrugs off the warning, ducking inside his hollow to retrieve his staff. "You worry too much, old Oak. Anything tries to hurt me, I'll freeze it solid."

_Very well. Just be sure to choose your friends wisely, Jack._

And the boy is off, whooping and hollering in the darkening gloom of All Hallows Eve.

The Oak was right, Jack decides, leaping from tree to tree in half-contained glee. There are so many things afoot, things that crawl, and lurk, and cackle. Things that are tall, and short, and that are not quite things at all.

_Choose your friends wisely_ , the Oak said. So Jack watches. Most of what he finds, he passes by, discards the anger, and fear, and pain.

It is not until he is almost to the Tangle-Woods that he finds something that may be a good friend. Actually, Make that three somethings, and a rather whirly twirly tangley pumpkin.

He's not quite sure of what they are, or what to make of them, scrambling and chittering, and trying to peer in a window. Only that they are clad in -or are, white sheets, and are giggling, and are just a little scary.

He raps his staff against the ground, the pain and the hurt fleeing like shadows as the three little scaries turn around, and goggle at him. One approaches, its long neck swaying. _What are you_? It asks, darting about his feet curiously.

"Jack Frost." He replies, drawing a trace of frost on the ground.

The second one approaches, tripping over too many feet. _Why are you here?_ This one asks.

"I'm looking for friends." Jack replies. The third one tries to look in the window again, before turning to look at him, a cluster of leaves stuck on the tip of a long, long nose.

_Do you like to play tricks?_ It asks, looking up at him.

"I always play tricks." He replies, before he can think. But he knows that it's true, even if he doesn't know exactly what a trick is.

But the three little scaries whoop and cheer, and dart around, while the pumpkin winds its way down the street.

It isn't long before Jack finds out what a trick is. The scaries wind their way around a fellow's ankles, sending him sprawling suddenly on the ground.

Jack grins, and turns towards a woman. His staff clacks on the cobbles, sending her skidding across ice that wasn't, but now very much is. He leans close, but not too close, and closes freezing fingers on her nose.

He can't touch her, but she feels the cold all the same. She nearly jumps, before rushing inside.

The scaries cheer, and lead Jack on a merry game. Here he freezes a well solid enough to crack metal, there he frosts a horse's tail. Each time it makes the people jump in fright, and Jack just laughs.

But these are all little tricks. And Jack wants something bigger.

Everyone in the Tangle-Woods knows Mister Crane, with his Wagon of Strange and 'Spensive things. Even Jack, and even the scaries know of Mister Crane.

And here he is in the woods, on All Hallows Eve. And Jack has planned a wicked trick for poor Mister Crane.

He comes out of the woods, as Tall as can be, wearing a coat with its collar pulled over his head, and the Tangley Pumpkin sitting atop, flying so as his feet don't touch the ground. The Scaries hoot and howl, and even the moonbeams get in on the fun.

Mister Crane looks a'scared, and bolts away down the track, towards the town, with Jack and the Scaries on his heels. And Mister Crane doesn't look forwards, because he's looking back, and a great big branches knocks him to the ground all sleeping.

Jack lands, and crows, because his trick worked! Worked better than he could have wanted. He and the scaries look through the cart, and help themselves to some of Mister Crane's most 'Spensive candies.

There's a farm not too far away, and they rest there while they come up with another wicked trick.

Jack sucks on his candy, and it's sweet on his tongue in the cold. He can hear the laughter of children, and grins. He's not played any tricks on children tonight, and he has the beginnings of one rattling around.

The children come to a pumpkin patch, and Jack couldn't have asked for a better place to play.

But he doesn't get there first – there's a shadow lurking there. And nearly too late, Jack remembers the old Oak's words. Foul things are a-foot tonight, and this is foulest of them all.

And he is nearly too late, even as he remembers. So he calls out to the shadow. "Hey!"

It turns, and looks at him. "And who are you?" The shadow asks, and it is not just a shadow, but a man.

For the second time that night, Jack gives his name. And the shadow-man laughs. "Well now, Jack Frost. What is it that you want?"

"You. Gone." Jack replies. "And not scaring kids."

"Not scaring kids?" the Shadow-Man asks. "Why, weren't you and your little friends about to scare them yourselves?" Here, he sneers at the scaries.

"Yeah. But not like you would've" Jack retorts, gripping his staff tightly. "We're just a little scary. You're not."

"Of course I'm not!" The Shadow-Man looks proud of this fact. "I am Pitch-Black, Nightmare-King!" the shadows nearly move, reaching for the children. "I am the Boogeyman, boy. And what I want, I take!"

"Not tonight." Jack grins. For the tangley pumpkin has scooped up the children, and the moonbeams have come to help. "Tonight will be treats, not your wicked tricks."

The boogeyman looks a little bit mad. Like someone took his candy, or foiled his plans for world domination. Just a little bit mad.

But the moonbeams shine brighter, and the Boogeyman is gone, back to wherever shadows and shadowmen go.

_No more tricks?_ The three little scaries ask Jack, even as he puts all of his candy in a pile in front of the Tangley Pumpkin, even as he watches it sooth the littlest child, who is busy sobbing into his blanket. _No more tricks, ever?_

Jack smirks. "I always play tricks, remember? Just none like the Boogeyman plays."

And he freezes the candy-pile solid, leading the scaries off to play.

 


	6. Loup Garou

The armour fits around him, perfectly snug. Jack thinks the fairies have outdone themselves, admiring his reflection in a shard of ice. He looks like a knight of yore, with bow and blade at his command.

Nearby, three fairy maids are donning trails of flowers and weaving autumn leaves into their air, attended to by quite the army of mice, who look perfectly pleased to scamper up and down, needle and thread clenched between their teeth, mending any loose threads.

"Are you ready to go, Jack?" The eldest of the maids asks. She looks no older than he does, but as one who can change their age at will, going from boy to nearly a man as quick as blinking, he knows better than to think that she cannot do the same.

Jack nods, and pushes off of the trunk of the tree. He can hear the fireworks from here, as almost all of Paris celebrates Monsieur Eiffel's new tower. They won't be attending that party, and for that, Jack is glad. As much as he cares for his Taller friends, they haven't quite got the knack of a good party down.

Instead, he and the fairies are attending their own gathering, for all manner of secret and hidden things. And they know much better than most how to throw a proper party.

It is in full swing by the time they arrive. The clearing is full of spooks and spirits of all manners, filled to the bursting with all manner of creatures, all enjoying the celebration.

Quickly, the fairies slip away to join their companions, and the mice dart off into the undergrowth. Jack isn't bothered at all, flitting over to the food, sending little tendrils of frost crawling everywhere, to the delight of some of the spooks, and the aggravation of most of the other guests.

But he cannot stay in one place for very long, and soon drawing ferns in the punch bowl bores him, and Jack moves on, prancing about merrily as he joins in the dancing.

"Well, well well. Jack Frost!"

Jack spins around, and sighs in annoyance. The man before him is built like a tree, with wild and flyaway hair. But it is the two Werewolf Guards on either side that irk Jack.

"Hello, Shadowbent."

"Hello Shadowbent indeed." The fellow smiles, baring sharp fangs. "Is that any way to treat an old friend?"

Jack nearly laughs at that. "Last I checked, Shadowbent, you went and declared us mortal enemies. Something about me freezing your bedsheets?" Even so, Jack can feel the hilt of the fairy-sword under his hand.

Shadowbent blinks at that. "Ah, yes. That incident. Never fear, Frost. I haven't come for blood tonight. Some other time, never fret."

"Then why are you here?" Jack asks, even as moonbeams start to whisper warnings in his ear.

Shadowbent ignores the motes of light that are clearing warning him as well. "For the same reason as you." He replies. "Folk out there simply don't know how to throw a good party."

"I highly doubt that." He's trying his best not to snarl at Shadowbent, remembering blood on snow, and children crying. "You like it when they run and scream."

"I do." Shadowbent agrees. "But do not forget that it is not to shadows that I am allied, but to the light."

"Then stop going after kids!" Jack all but thunders, and ice starts to creep down the trees. "If you really are an ally of the Man in the Moon, then you know that harming a child is forbidden!"

Shadowbent merely sniffs. "I am not one of his Guardians, Jack. I am not bound by any oath not to harm children. Merely lend aid should the Nightmare King rise, and to exercise restraint in my dealings." He chuckles, and looks at Jack. "You too are not bound by the Guardian's Oath. Surely you haven't forgotten that."

Jack hasn't forgotten. Cannot forget the pain, and the hurt, and the sorrow, when no one can see _Jack Frost_. "I may not be bound, but that's no excuse to go around hurting kids."

Shadowbent shrugs. "If you say so, Jack." He turns to leave. "It seems this will be a conversation for another day, after I've thought of a suitable fate for your freezing my bedsheets."

"Bring it on." Jack says.

_Bring it on._

 


	7. The Pitch

I am in the branches of the Sadly Oak tree. The Jack-boy has left to play with the little scaries, and the Tree would like to know what the happening was.

So I tell it. The Jack-boy, he faced the Pitch.

The Sadly Oak tree does not like this. Its branches are all a stirring, and it is having a most fierce look on it. It is so angry with the Pitch. So very, very angry. The Pitch is such a fiercely foe, filled with much fearings. And the Jack-boy, he went and he faced the Pitch.

The Sadly Oak did not want the jack-boy to be hurt. And the Pitch would have hurt the Jack-boy. So the Sadly Oak is filled with angerings. The Jack-boy is very much strong, the Sadly Oak is a-telling me. But the Pitch is stronger, I'm a-saying.

The Pitch, he's getting stronger. Stronger and cleverer. And that's scaring the Sadly Oak. Because the Jack-boy, he's going to meet the Pitch again. And this time, the Pitch won't be holding back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a random Moonbeam - not Nightlight's Moonbeam.


	8. Wild Things

There is not a single creature of the forest that does not know the name Jack Frost. Otters teach it to their kits, and the songbirds sing it loud. Even the wolf and the bear bow before him, and give way when they hear.

For Jack is the King of Wild Things, and all the wilds obey him. From the babbling brook, to the sunflowers in the fields, each bows to Jack, and will come to his aid if he calls.

Most frequently, Jack calls on the trees to answer and aid him. Though they are rooted in place, their leaves from past summers are free to roam. And when Jack calls, they answer, conjuring up shields to protect, or paths to ride upon. Under his hand, they seek out ill that linger, and snuff it out.

Other times, Jack calls on them for lighter tasks. Making leaf piles for children's games, or tangling autumn into hair are equally important tasks. For Jack is King of more than just the wild things, but childhood as well.

He guards them, and guides them, and calls his subjects to help him. And they answer his call with fervour and pride. Because there is nothing in the forest that does not know the name Jack Frost.


	9. Vanish

There are many different kinds of snowballs. Some are formed from muddy snow, others have scraps of grass that get everywhere. Some are formed of slush and splash deliciously against coats and caps. Jack's favourite are the soft clumpy kind that are easy to form, and make for great games.

Snowballs with hearts of ice or stone are less fun, mainly because they are thrown at people in spite or in hatred most of the time.

So it was no surprise when a sudden ice ball smacking one of the younger kids in the chin ruined the game. The poor boy spit out a handful of teeth, bursting into tears. One of the older girls dropped her snowball to the ground, rushing over to dab at the blood and pick up the teeth.

Jack scooped up a clump of snow, throwing it right into the face of the kid who had thrown it, before flying off. There were two things that spoiled a good snowball fight: Kids getting hurt, and tooth fairies.

Most of the tooth fairies were okay. Most of them.

But occasionally…

That night saw Jack perched above the boy's roof, steadfastly ignoring golden streams of sand in favour of watching out for the tooth fairy.

"Hi, Jack!"

Jack leapt into the air, hurling a bolt of frost at wherever the voice had come from. The speaker dodged it easily, before flying up to Jack on a buzz of wings. Jack groaned, and settled onto the roof. "Hi, Vanish."

Most tooth fairies were okay. Vanish just got on his nerves. The smaller fairies said that she was the sister of the Queen of the Tooth fairies, and he had to admit that she looked the part, clad as she was in the same spectacular plumage. But if the Queen, Toothiana, was kind and noble… "What are you doing here?"

Vanish shrugged. "Helping Tooth collect teeth. Duh." She opened her fist to show him the child's tooth before tucking it away. "She lectured me about responsibility. Again." She rolled her eyes, and sat beside him.

Jack frowned, trying to put some distance between them. "Oh, really."

"Yes, really." She scooted closer again. "It was all "Mom and Dad this, Guardians that, you have important duties to uphold." As if I don't know that already."

Jack considered icing the roof under her and watching her slide down for a few moments before answering. "And you came here because…"

"I was looking for you." She moved even closer. "You're not too hard to track down."

"Why were you looking for me?" Jack asked. She was sitting way too close to him now, and he was really tempted to freeze her to the roof.

"Because it gets on your nerves and makes you go red in the face." Vanish smirked. "You look really cute when you blush."

Jack could feel his face getting hot. He tapped his staff on the shingles, sending frost and ice racing up her feathers. "You knew you were just going to get frozen again." He said, watching the ice thicken.

Vanish shrugged, and planted a kiss on his cheek before he could pull away. Jack spluttered, while she just started giggling. "So…worth…it!" she gasped between laughs.

Jack rubbed at his cheek before dropping a foot or so of snow on top of her head. "Later, Vanish." He took off, watching her push through the snow.

As the winds carried him away, he heard her calling out to him, and blushed.

"Who is she calling 'hot stuff'? I do ice, not fire!"


	10. Twinetender

Jack cannot remember not having his staff, not hearing its voice as it teaches him to sing to the wind. Twinetender has been his constant companion, ever since he woke up that night, so long ago.

Like him, Twinetender doesn't remember who he was, or what his original name was. The only thing that he remembers is waking up to the sound of a thousand voices, coursing through the branches beside him.

Jack knows better than to touch on lives before. His own empty past nags at him too much to hurt his friend that way. But sometimes, Jack is jealous. At least Twinetender has an idea of what he was.

The staff has told him many times about the ceremonies and funeral that he witnessed prior to his cutting. About brave Mohican warriors cutting stout staves for shaping into bows, and about weeping crowds clustered around the roots, lowering bodies into the ground, and of new voices joining the song.

But Jack cannot remain jealous for long. Jack can move about, or act in his defense. If they are ever separated, Twinetender cannot stop anyone from using him for firewood.  
His friend's helplessness is something that he always bears in mind. And when Pitch demands his staff, in exchange for a tooth fairy life, Jack is torn.

Baby Tooth says no, to never give in to Pitch, not to give it to him. Twinetender says yes. The life of a staff is nothing compared to hers.

So Jack reluctantly surrenders Twinetender. He does not expect Pitch to break him.

The staff cries out in pain and shock, and Jack does the same. It is like a physical blow, hurting both of them in ways they didn't know that they could be. Overwhelmed by the sudden silence of his friend, Jack does not notice Pitch's attack. Nor does he care.

And alone at the bottom of the crevasse, Jack cannot help but feel to blame. He destroyed the faith of children, hurt those who would protect them. And now Baby Tooth cannot fly, and Twinetender lies broken.

Later, when he recovers his memories, and manages to mend the staff with the echo of a spell, when he hears Twinetender's voice singing to the wind once more…

Jack cannot help but sing along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first wrote this chapter, Jack's Staff was named Twinetender. In time, that name was changed and shortened to Twiner. He also became a Viking, and able to take different forms. I've put it as Twiner in the tags, but in-fic it's going to be Twinetender.


	11. Fairy Tales

She cannot help but love Burgess. Ever since her adventures with Jack Frost, and getting to see the town, she has been the envy of the other tooth fairies (Or as much as one can envy oneself can be). Even now, the other tooth fairies (and Vanish, on occasion) will flutter up to Baby Tooth, asking her about the newest Guardian.

And Jack Frost likes Burgess, so whenever Baby Tooth tells them about Jack Frost, she tells them about Burgess and its children too. About clever Monty, and the twins, Caleb and Claude. About Pippa, and Cupcake, who has a heart of gold. About innocent Sophie and brave Jamie.

Toothiana apparently has to bite back a chortle whenever one of their teeth comes in, so brightly polished.

Baby Tooth is headed to Burgess tonight. It's Sophie's first tooth, and she's got to pick it up. But first, she has a stop to make.

Jack's tree is old and winding, and likes to talk in her head. Just visiting the Oak always makes her feel better, even if Jack isn't around.

Tonight he is, though. He's sitting up on one of the branches, telling stories to his fairies who live in the crown. She flits up through the leaves, chirping polite hellos to the fair folk of the old Oak. She can't stay long, but she'll at least give Jack her hello.

Jack catches sight of her hovering amid the Oak leaves, and beckons her forward. "This is Baby Tooth." he tells his fairies. "She's the one I was talking about. If it wasn't for her bravery, I'd probably still be stuck in Antarctica."

Baby Tooth waves shyly as the fairies buzz amongst themselves. Jack just smirks, and whispers in her ear. "I know you tell the other Tooth fairies stories. Did you think I wouldn't tell mine about you?"

She has to agree about that. And as she heads off to grab Sophie's tooth, she knows that she has a new story for the others.

 


	12. Naughty

Like most things, it started small. A cookie nibbled here. A sip of eggnog there. Harmless stuff, really. All the elves were guilty of it.

But he wanted more. So cookies became cakes, and sips turned into gulps. And those gulps turned into gas.

And when he saw that big green cloud, smelled that noxious odour, he knew he had found his calling.

The yetis were not pleased of course. Who likes strings of boogers wiped on toys, or dolls that stink of Christmas farts? Who likes seeing elf drool all over their favourite cup, or finding ear wax on their tooth brush?

This had gone too far, the yetis agreed amongst themselves. He didn't. Grossness was his calling, his solemn vow. But even he had to agree, looking up at North's bootlaces, that regurgitating an entire Christmas turkey was a bit much. Those bones had hurt, coming back up!

"What am I going to do with you?" North was groaning. "All this- grossness you are doing. It needs to stop." The Guardian waved a sword covered in glitter glue and dental cream in front of his face. "Now."

That clearly wasn't going to happen. He shook his belled head fiercely at that, enjoying the sound that it made.

North frowned, and reached a huge hand down, pulling off his hat. "No more. Until you learn better, you will go and help Jack Frost. He may be more tolerating of your mischiefs."

And so he was off to help Jack Frost. He'd heard stories from the other elves. No elf who was sent there ever came back. Might be a problem with the whole mission of grossness.

* * *

Jack looked at the little elf that North had sent his way this time. "Okay, so I'm in charge of you now?" He asked, double checking. At his words, the little elf nodded very hard, looking up in confusion when there was no ringing. "And you got kicked out for being gross?"

More nods, and Jack grinned. "Excellent. I've got a job for you. Florida, nice and hot. Watch out for the alligators. You ready to hear what it is?"

The elf nodded again.

"Your most solemn mission, to help bring fun and games to the children… Is to start three games of hopscotch. Go! Do not fail me!"

The elf took off, and Jack had to bite back his laughter for a moment. This was going to be good!

Two days later, five continents, twelve angry policemen, and a very confused African parrot saw Jack looking down at the little elf, covered from head to toe in walrus snot.

Jack blinked. "Well, the children liked it." He reasoned. "Good job, A for effort."

The little elf giggled, and ran off, eager to 'help' some more. Jack cringed at the sound of breaking glass, and a little old lady screaming at the "tiny pointy man eating her cookies!" and laughed.


	13. Fantasia

Hurry! They tell him, looking back over their shoulders at the army of shadows that lurks just behind them.

He takes the baby and _runs_ , the shadows hot on his heels. Like a bolt of light, he flickers past shadows, reaching out to snatch the child, past the crew, fighting valiantly against warriors they can never hope to overcome. Past the still silent bodies…

He pulls the child's face next to his body. No bad dreams. No nightmares to threaten him.

They only have a moment. He tucks the baby into bed, looking around, watching every shadow for signs of danger. Nothing yet. Yet.

At his shoulder, the brave crew take up arms -sword, shield and spear- and stand at the ready. They will die before they let harm come here.

He doesn't have time to wait – they're coming, and he can feel them at the door. He wipes a hasty tear off the child's cheek, feels it grow hot and sharp in his hand – and he cuts down the shadow that snuck in from above, lurking over the crib.

With a shout, the crew turns, cutting off the stream of shadows, and sealing the way. He cannot stay to guard the baby. So he sprinkles golden sand instead, and then is out the door.

No one else guards the hall – they have all fallen. The shadows look up at him – and lunge – and he carves a path. His soul is screaming, wailing, and the air feels as cold as ice. But he cannot stop. Never stop –never.

He cuts down another shadow, and catches sight of Them – the shadows have them – and then they are gone, still and silent, and his heart screams.

The shadows roil around, but do not draw too close. Then – behind them – Movement.

 _He_ rears up, standing ten, no, a hundred feet tall. Wings blacker than the darkest stars stretch out behind _him_. Horns curl up from behind ragged black hair, and eyes burn like fire.

This is the King of the Nightmares. The Scourge of the Stars. And he is afraid.

 _He_ gestures, and he leaps, cutting into the outstretched arm. The shadows do not take kindly to his assault, and trap him in a whirling circle of shadows, and he cannot strike them all. Over it all, like some dark god, _He_ presides, enjoying his torment.

He cuts – again, and again and again – like lightning in the storm.

Their words come to him then, throbbing in his heart, loud and clear. And he clears his heart, readies his mind. And leaps.

And strikes true.


	14. Zen

"Something must be done." North boomed. "There are still too many Nightmares about, even with Pitch gone for now."

The Guardians were clustered at the Pole, looking at a tiny, frightened Nightmare writhing in Sandy's grasp. The Nightmare bucked and squealed, trying desperately to escape from the sandy fellow's clutches.

Bunny gave a snort. "And who's going to take care of that?" he asked. "None of us have the time for it!"

"None of us?" North questioned. "Sandy and Tooth can deal with whichever ones they find every night, and you, Jack and I can take some time hunting down the tricky ones. Will be piece of pie."

Bunny spluttered. "But-but my eggs! North, I have no idea how far they got in the warren, and I still have way too much chocolate to clean up!"

"Then take Jack." North said, looking at the young Guardian. "Work will go faster with two sets of hands, yes?"

Bunny frowned, and then sighed. "Fine. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Jack looked between Bunny and North. "Don't I get a say in this?"

Bunny smirked, and tapped a foot on the floor. "Consider it payment for Easter."

The tunnel opened underneath Jack, and pulled him in. With a whoop, he skidded down the ancient mossy tunnel, Bunny hot on his heels. As he tumbled onto the grass, Jack looked up at Bunny in confusion.

"I thought we were cool!"

"We are, no fear." Bunny hauled Jack upright. "But North was right. Pitch or not, you did help to make the mess, and it's only fair that you help clean it up. Besides…" The pooka gave a grin. "I don't think you've seen the rest of the warren. This'll go faster than you think."

"Then why make a big fuss out of it to North?" Jack asked. "If it's not hard to clean up, why complain?"

"Because I'm not just cleaning up the mess." Bunny said, walking down one of the tunnels. "I've got a lot of stuff that went offline, stuff that would have made it hard for Pitch to take even one of the eggs. But, I let it go without getting fixed, so that's on my head."

Jack looked around. "What kind of stuff?"

They emerged into a giant hall, shaped sort of like an egg that had fallen over. Along the walls and floor, hundreds of well-labeled eggs were lined up on shelves and fixed in replica nests.

Jack whistled. "You…might have an egg problem, Bunny."

"What, this?" Bunny dusted off an odd pair of green, egg shaped spectacles, and put them on. "I collected all of these years ago, back before I became a Guardian. Hmm. I should probably dust." He ran a finger across one of the eggs, and snorted at the layers of dust that he disturbed.

"Before you became a Guardian." Jack remembered North saying something about Bunny, back at the Tooth Palace. "You mean the cute little bunny that you turned into?"

Bunny burst out laughing. "No. I wasn't…" He bent double in laughter. "I was…" he tried to choke out the words between giggles. "That 'cute little bunny'… I haven't, not in years!"

Jack swirled up a snowball, and chucked it into Bunny's face. The cold seemed to startle the Pooka, who looked up at Jack.

Giving a nod of thanks, Bunny took a deep breath. "While I was that 'cute little Bunny' at one time, that's not who I was before becoming a Guardian."

"So…what is up with that 'cute little bunny'?" Jack asked. "Was that you as a kid?"

"Right in one." Bunny nodded. "Pookas live a long time, Jack. And we grow up fast. I'll admit, getting turned into a kid was more than a little humiliating."

"Yeah, my shins heard you just fine." Jack said. "So, how fast do Pookas grow up?" he asked curiously.

"Takes about a day for us to grow out of childhood." Bunny replied, pulling Jack into another room. It was as egg-shaped as the first, but filled to the brim with egg shaped robots of every shape, size, and degree of completion. "We'll start by getting some of these buckos running again." Bunny said. "That'll seriously help us get things cleaned up quick."

"All of them?" Jack asked. "And you just let these lie here? When they could have been helping or managing your Easter prep?" he snickered. "You poor, deprived thing."

"How am I poor or deprived?" Bunny pushed a handful of eggs into Jack's arms, and then started stuffing them in the hoodie pocket. He paused for a moment, nose twitching furiously. "Is that a crack about my childhood?"

"No." Jack replied, shifting uncomfortably as Bunny started piling eggs into his hood. "That's me taking pity on you for having such a pathetically short childhood."

Bunny just laughed. "Please. I'll have you know that I had a very satisfactory childhood. Not sure I'd want more than one day." He looked at Jack, nearly covered in robotic eggs. The pooka picked up a couple more, and hooked their feet around Jack's ears. "That should be enough for now."

He scooped up a handful of eggs in his arms, leading a very wobbly Jack back to the main room of the warren.

For his part, Jack was very glad to put down all of the eggs. Bunny had fetched a bucket of water from somewhere, and passed it to Jack along with an old rag.

"If you wipe them down, I'll get them running again." He said.

"Kay." Jack said, before snickering again.

"You're not going to let that kid thing go, are you?" Bunny asked warily.

"Nope. Not for a long, long time."

 


	15. I climb to the Moon

He always seeks the heights. Higher and higher he climbs, up past where the air is thin, until he stands next to the roof of the world.

Some part of him longs to go higher. More of him longs for the sound of laughter, and for the warmth of hugs, and stories, and songs.

He'll keep climber higher one day, until that part of his heart is still and silent.

But for now, for today, snow days and sun rays beckon, back down to the heart of the world.

He laughs, and calls to the wind. And together, they leap.

Tomorrow can wait forever.

 


	16. Black as Coal

Night comes early to London. Light and life are choked out by the thick clouds of coal smoke, black as the hearts of the lost and poor.

It is times like this that he thrives. No moonbeams to look down through the smoke, and see the children, tiny, and helpless and terrified. No moonbeams to see their misery, to warn those precious Guardians.

These children do not have the luxury of believing. No little lights to flicker and fade. No lights to warn if they are hurt, or dying.

To warn of the approach of the Nightmare King.

He whispers in their ears, watches in delight as they cringe from his voice, recoil from his touch.

But it is the few that do not recoil that please him best. The ones who stir, and look ahead clearly. The ones who let fear and misery stew, and turn to hate.

Their hearts are as black as his, as black as the choking coal smoke that stirs all.

Some, precious few, let that smouldering hate spill out. And then the streets run red.

One child takes his words to heart. Lets him feed the fear and misery, and drinks deeply from it. That child's eyes are clear, and see him as easily as anything.

The child smiles a hollow smile, and the Nightmare King laughs, delighting in this darkling child.

It is play to teach him the ways of sword, and knife, and axe and spear. He turns the child loose, and both drink in the fear and hate and pain that the city roils in.

And the moon notices too late, the work of Pitch Black, and little Jack.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Jack mentioned in this chapter is Jack the Ripper, as opposed to Jack Frost.


	17. Phil is Oblivious

Phil peered over the railing, waiting for the next load to be tossed his way. Up on the floors above, he could see the furry shapes of his fellows running around in a hurry.

He turned to his companion, scratching his head even as he caught a handful of Frisbees. "What's going on up there?" He asked.

His companion shrugged. "Apparently the Tsar has chosen a new Guardian." She said, snagging a skateboard before it could hit the ground. She passed it off to one of the couriers, and turned back to the railing. "One of the Generals."

Phil looked a bit surprised at that, putting a fire truck on the nearby table for painting. "One of our Generals?"

She nodded. "That's what everyone's saying. The General Who Has No Clan was chosen last night to be a Guardian. So, everyone's running around making sure that everything goes smoothly."

Phil squinted, catching sight of the golden figure of the Sandman high above. He gave a whistle. "This isn't just some minor occasion, huh?"

"Nope." She shook her topknot. "The kitchens are working overtime on a grand banquet for afterwards. I almost got stuck down there today, they're so short staffed." She looked at Phil oddly. "How come you don't know any of this?"

Phil gave a grunt, and tossed some finished hula hoops up a floor. "Jack Frost tried to get in again. Between that and that black sand, I've spent the past day checking all of the nooks and crannies to make sure that they're secure."

She giggled. "I'd forgotten how much Jack likes giving you the run around." She looked up at the sound of horns. "Sounds like it's starting."

"Mhm." Phil didn't even bother looking up. "I'm still surprised those elves can play music."

"They aren't Jack's now. They're a little more refined than that." She pointed out.

"We lost one last week. Remember the snot?"

She wrinkled her nose at that. "I'd finally forgotten."

"Oh." Phil pulled up a load of unpainted robots, and passed them over to be painted. "Sorry." The sound of silence filled the air for a moment, and Phil looked at his companion. "Ceremony must be done."

She nodded. The rest of the floor had gotten busier, and they could both hear the elevator coming down.

Phil peered over the railing again, when a familiar voice caught his ear.

"Hey, slow down will ya? I've been trying to bust in this place for years!"

Phil spun around, catching sight of _Jack Frost_ , of all people, trying to keep up with Nicholas St. North, who was currently questioning Jack about this business of "Busting in."

Phil was speechless. How on earth had Jack Frost gotten into the building? He'd checked all the entrances himself!

Jack just gave a cheeky "Hey, Phil, and kept following North. Beside him, Phil's companion was laughing herself silly at his expression.

"No - no-one told you, did they?" She howled.

"Told me what?" Phil asked. "How did Jack Frost get by me?"

She had to lead on the railing for support. "Phil, Jack Frost is the new guardian. _He's the Yeti General!"_

Phil didn't even notice when a doll smacked him in the head. "He's not very fuzzy." The yeti said faintly.

 


	18. Nod

The first toys went missing just after Christmas. One here, one there, never more than two or three from a home. Sometimes it was an older one, sometimes newer, but each loved, and not easily misplaced.

After a few days without their toys, children complained to their parents, who could find neither hide nor hair of the poor lost toys.

The rabbits heard about it first. One of their number, with a special love for toys, heard the plight of the children, and told his fellows. They passed the message to the frogs, and the deer, and the wild cats.

That was how the birds heard it, from the yowling of the cats below, just out of reach. And perched on top of their backs, the Nod received the news.

Not one more night went by when all the Nod knew of the missing toys. Not one more night went by without their watchful eyes.

And not one more night went by without Jack Frost knowing about the problem.

Without a lead, however, there was little that the Guardians could do. So the Nod watched, and waited, their horns at the ready for the moment the thief appeared.

It was little Winken who spotted him first. A man like a clown, reaching out from odd little places to snatch away a treasured toy when a child's back was turned. But Winken could not see where he went.

A man like a clown, the Nod told each other. A man like a clown was taking the toys. Soon, every circus and every party had a watchful guardian at the ready.

So, when the clown-man started snatching birthday gifts from a child's birthday party, the Nod on duty leapt into action in a heartbeat, chasing down the clown-man, through his secret paths.

It was Rusby the squirrel who brought them Blinken's silver horn, snapped in two, and warnings of the living toys who had taken the brave little fairy.

Some of the finest of the Nod took flight then, to sound the alarm and to save their trapped companion. From wise old Evermore, to little Robin, all took to the sky.

Three days and three nights they fought, for light, for life, and living. Against the clown, and his sad little army of toys, for the sake of all girls and boys.

And as the sun rose once again, the Midnight Horns of the watchful Nod rang loud and sharp and clear.

It was just the sound that Jack wanted to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the time this chapter was posted, William Joyce was posting a lot of pictures related to his then-upcoming book, Ollie's Odyssey. Because childhood is such a central theme to the Guardians, I worked in bits and pieces. It isn't a true crossover - even for a drabble collection - hence my not tagging it in the fandoms section.
> 
> I will be making notes of everything that I've referenced here in the footnotes, though.
> 
> In this chapter: Ollie's Odyssey, Kate Rusby's "Little Jack Frost" and the poem "Winken, Blinken, and Nod (specifically, the Irish Rovers' song version).


	19. Leafsong

_Hello?_

He woke up, and looked out the cabin window, into an autumn wonderland. Somewhere inside him, a thousand voices were calling.

_Hello! Hi there! Can he hear us? Shh! I think he can! Hello, hello, hello!_

There was never anyone there that he could see, and he never knew how to speak, how to ask.

He climbed every tree in the Tangle Woods, trying to find the voices. Always he scurried upwards, and always the voices cried out to him, _hello, hello, hello!_

One day, the two of them, one slightly tall, the other rather small, were sent out to sweep up the leaves.

And with each whisk, each sweep, the voices hummed within.

He'd gone back inside to get a tin cup for water when he heard the voice again. Small, and smiling, and filled with a love of fun, it sang to him, _hello, hi, up here!_

He pulled a leaf out of his hair, and looked at it in confusion. It looked as if a caterpillar had been chewing on it, with two little eye-holes, and a happy little mouth.

 _Hello, hello, hello!_ Sang the leaf. _You found me, you saw me,_ _I'm so glad you found me!_

And his heart smiled, and ached with joy. _Let's play, let's play!_ The leaf sang, fluttering out of his grip. _Games for children, and games for leaves! Pile us up into a giant heap! Then stand back and make a running leap!_

"It'll take a long time to find you all." He replied. "It'll be dark by then, and we have to be in bed."

_Then call us by name, by name! the name of our tree, the name that you see! For you, oh child, we will dance and sing! For you we do most anything!_

He followed the leaf out the door, and stood in the yard for a moment, trying to remember the names of the trees that he'd been taught. And the leaf sang, and his heart hummed and called.

Birch laughed and rowan danced. Maple flowed and Oak pranced. Elm led and hickory spun, till all too soon their dance was done.

"That was incredible!" she said to him, running up and tugging on his hand. "Look how fast we were able to finish!"

"Yeah, it was awesome." He replied, a little smugly. "But you know what's even better?"

She shook her head, and the leaves laughed. In two light steps, he scooped her up and both fell back into the pile of leaves.

They spent the rest of the afternoon there, playing in the sunlight, cavorting and frolicking, and calling the leaves together when the pile became too strewn.

And he fell asleep that night to the singing of a hundred thousand autumn leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The picture that went with this drabble was one of happy, smiling autumn leaves. Not long after, by some serendipitous fortune, I found such a leaf on my kitchen floor, begging me to play with it. Its mood was infectious, and this chapter came from that.
> 
> Out of all of the characters, I think that the leaves are my favourite to write.


	20. Aquaphobia

Paris glitters in the moonlight, children sleeping snugly as moonbeams flit to and fro, whisking out shadows and nightmares from inside closets and under beds.

The shadows won't get far, though. The Guardians are afoot tonight, seeking out the last of Pitch's Nightmares that still wander free.

Bunny darts after one, light on his feet, chasing it down the street to where the road crosses the Seine.

One well-aimed boomerang cuts it apart like butter.

But Bunny is too close, and gets a hefty dose of the nightmare sand in his eyes.

Jack is just in time to see Bunny disappear under the frigid waters. It is only a moment's hesitation to call for North, before he plunges under the water after their errant Pooka. It is only when both are under water, and Bunny is thrashing in his arms in a panic, that Jack realizes that neither of them can swim.

They kick, trying desperately to reach the surface, even as moonbeams cluster around, whispering words of encouragement and trying their best to lift both.

Suddenly the surface of the water breaks, as North reaches down and grabs them both, hauling them out of the water.

Free of the depths, Jack shudders. The memory of the ice breaking is sharp in his mind, and he finds the water just a little frightening.

He glances up, to see Bunny curled up on the floor of North's sleigh, sobbing and pressing his face into the Russian's robe.

"Is he alright?" Jack asks. North strokes Bunny gently, singing something in Russian. For a moment, he looks up at Jack.

"Bunny is afraid of water, Jack. All Pookas are."

Bunny doesn't say anything in his defense, merely whimpers and curls up tighter. The scene is so unbelievable, so un-Bunny-like, that Jack has a hard time believing that his brave and powerful friend could be rendered so helpless in the face of something as simple as water.

But then, Jack isn't the greatest fan of water, either. The thought of being underwater again, even now, is unnerving.

So Jack makes himself Small, and ignores North's squawk of surprise, and cuddles up next to Bunny.

North just gives a sigh, and starts stroking the both of them, singing gently in words that Jack does not know.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pookas are afraid of water, and I promise I'm not making this up.
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/86kpowiz52/   
> This is the picture that inspired the chapter. Do with this what you will.


	21. I believe

Everyone knows the King of Childhood. There are few who can say they have never met him, fewer who can say they merely heard of him, and none who can say that in the deepest, darkest parts of their hearts, that they did not at the very least know.

No two children give him the same face, the same voice, the same name. To some he is formless, an act of nature and guardian entity. To others, he is their imaginary friend, or their shadow on the wall. He plays at tea party, and tag, and hide and go seek.

Few know that he is Jack Frost. But not one doubts that he is.

He taught you to fly, how to make castles out of clouds. How to pick a hiding spot, and tricked you into giving yourself away. He is splashing through mud puddles, and snow forts, and towers of blocks. He is bright crayon sketches, and sunbeams on daisies.

Every parent knows him, and it is a sad day indeed should they decide not to introduce you. You meet him in peekaboo, and dolly in the crib. In airplane games, and food on your bib.

He teaches the child how to believe in Santa Claus, and the Easter Bunny too. All about tooth fairies, and puts in a good word for you with the Sandman.

He is the one who your parents call for help in scaring away the boogeyman, and the monsters under the bed. He is the one who makes your Nightlight magic, and turns shadows into shadow-plays.

Even when you grow out of your childhood games, and find new ones to play, no matter how dark becomes the day, your belief in him never wavers.

As you long for bygone childhood days.


	22. Sisters

Moving all of the teeth from Pitch's lair back to the Tooth Palace in Punjam Hy Loo was no easy feat. Tooth and her fairies worked quickly, moving them up out of the darkness and into daylight while her fellow Guardians stood guard, watching for any sign of Pitch or his nightmares.

Between that, and figuring out transportation methods for several hundred million tooth containers, all of the Tooth fairies were exhausted by the time they got back. With nightfall on the Pacific, they dozed off, trying to get some sleep.

"Tooth! Toothiana!"

A voice broke through the silence of a thousand sleeping fairies, shattering the relative peace and quiet.

Tooth stirred, pushing off of her perch. "Who is it?" she called.

A burst of bright feathers filled her face, and Tooth groaned at the sight of Vanish hovering there, with far too much energy.

Her little sister was covered in glitter for some strange reason, along with gemstones, silk scarves, and other trinkets that Tooth supposed were supposed to look beautiful. Vanish beamed, and hovered closer.

"Hey, Tooth! Happy Easter!" Vanish shouted.

Tooth groaned, and covered her ears. "Not so loud, Vanish. I'm trying to sleep!"

Vanish shrugged, gobbling down some Easter chocolate that she'd pulled from somewhere. "You? Sleep?" She asked, spraying bits of chocolate everywhere. "Since when?"

"Didn't you notice?" Tooth asked, slightly grumpy. Behind her, the mini-fairies were starting to stir, humming and peeping awake. "Pitch attacked. He stole all of the fairies –minus one – and took the teeth!"

"Is that why they're all in a pile on the ground?" Vanish asked, looking about in curiosity. "Cool!"

"Not cool!" Tooth bit back. "There was only one child left in the entire world who still believed, and if it wasn't for Jack Frost, we wouldn't be here – you wouldn't be here!"

Vanish just shrugged. "You're the Guardian, sis. Not me. Besides." She licked some chocolate off of her fingers. "You won, didn't you?"

"Vanish, look at me!" Tooth grabbed her sister's crest, and pulled her into a hug. "Remember mom, and our aunts?" She pointed to the graceful row of statues that were clustered about. "If I go, you go. That's what it means to be a Sister of Flight."

She pulled her sister into a tight hug. "I nearly lost you."

Vanish squirmed uncomfortably. "Oh." She said dully. They stayed silent for a moment before Vanish kicked her feet against the side of the perch. "So… you met Jack Frost?"

Tooth laughed, and nodded. "You were right. His teeth do sparkle like freshly fallen snow."

Vanish huffed, her feathers sticking out every which way. "He is so dense!" she complained. "I flirt with him, and while half the time he flirts back, the other half he just looks confused!"

Tooth couldn't stop her laughter. "I don't think he ever noticed you were flirting with him!" She gasped out between giggles. "He didn't remember. And I don't think it's ever occurred to him to ask!"

Vanish pouted. "Really? Why is it that the cute guys are always the oblivious ones?"

Tooth shrugged, and let go of her sister. "Not sure." She gave a yawn, and settled back onto her perch. "Can you cover the Pacific tonight? I need some more rest."

Vanish smiled, and hooked a bag of coins onto her belt. "No problem, Tooth. Just leave it to me."


	23. Cumulus

Clouds are not built equal. Some, like the thin Cirrus or the hazy Stratus clouds are pretty to look at, but no fun at all for fun and games.

It is the clouds that precede the storms, the great big fluffy Cumulus that make the best games. Filled with hills and valleys, castles and caves, they are a wonderful place to play, filled with endless adventure, where every corner is absolutely new.

Much of the time, Emily Jane will scoop up these clouds in anger, sending the people down below scurrying for shelter as rain – or sometimes snow – makes things decidedly unpleasant.

But sometimes is not always. Sometimes, the sunset turns the clouds golden, and she meets with the Sandman for a pleasant conversation. Then, those great big fluffy clouds, like giant heaps of Dreamsand, bring back memories of ages long gone.

And sometimes, even the storms are not acts of rage or sorrow, but turn to passion, and to fun and games. Sometimes, she sees Jack Frost playing in the clouds, darting to and fro in merry games with eagles, or chasing his own shadow.

Sometimes, she joins in the game, and feels like a child once more, piling up heaps of clouds for him to play in, or startling him with a bolt of lightning, or a clap of thunder.

They race around the clouds, into every nook and cranny, and she laughs madly, laughs with the wind and rain and lightning, heedless of fact that she is soaked through, or that it's freezing cold.

And sometimes, sometimes, when the Sandman joins them in their games, when she is together with her two very best friends, who know her better than anyone in the world…

That is the stuff of magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even back when it was written, I didn't really feel this was my strongest chapter. The idea was good, but it never really achieved what I wanted it to.


	24. Old Friends

The wind had finally dried Bunny's fur. He looked out over the town, watching Jack and North cut through the Nightmares that his terror had summoned. He rubbed at his eyes again, trying to get the last lingering flecks of Nightmare sand out before he dozed off, and had more bad dreams.

The creak of floorboards caught his ear, and Bunny turned to see North clambering back into the sleigh.

"Done already?" He asked. He could still see some nightmares about, flitting amongst the shadows below.

North shook his head. "No, not done. But you looked like you needed checking up on. So how could I say no to that?"

Bunny gave a wry chuckle. "I'm sorry about earlier." He gestured to North's coat. "Not usually like me to go and cry over someone like that."

"Everyone has fears." North shrugged. "There is no shame in it. And we will not tease you for this. You know that, yes?"

Bunny nodded, and for a moment, if one had asked, North would have said that the Pooka looked incredibly ancient.

"Do you remember how I was before?" He asked North.

"Yes." North replied. "Always so serious, and formal. Are you missing that?"

Bunny chuckled, his heart aching. "A little. A part of me wants to think that it would hurt less if I could lock my emotions away again. And the other half…"

"Other half is glad that you don't have to?" North guessed.

Bunny gave a weary nod. "It's a price I'm glad I paid, North. I'd pay it again in a heartbeat, if I had to. But some days…" The two old friends watched Jack flicker about, and watched as the horizon brightened as Sandy's dreamsand floated into view, chasing down the ragged nightmares.

North frowned for a moment, and then brightened. He reached into one of his pockets, and pulled out a beautifully decorated chocolate egg. "Here." The old Cossack passed the egg to Bunny. "Yetis have ben experimenting. Want your opinion."

The egg was a beautiful thing, with layers of white, milk, and dark chocolate, exquisitely marbled. Bunny had to admit, the Yetis had outdone themselves.

Once, he would have hesitated, saved the egg for a special occasion. But those days were long gone, and Bunny bit into the egg with relish. He rolled the chocolate along on his tongue for a moment, savouring the flavours. "Good texture." He replied at last. "Hmm, some jalapeno, sea salt… interesting combination. Almost a hint of vanilla in there, but not quite."

"Yetis have been reading taste-test books." North explained happily. "Very interested in all different flavour notes, now."

"So that's it." Bunny swallowed the rest of the egg. "They're off to a fine start. Give them my compliments."

North laughed. "I will, old friend." He pulled Bunny into a tight hug. "Feeling better?"

Bunny gave a nod. "Thanks, North."

"Any time, Bunny-man."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter follows Chapter 20.


	25. Storm Stories

It's nearly nightfall, and the night is warm. Warm enough for storms, and Jack can see Emily Jane's clouds ready to sweep in and make a ruckus.

Some nights, he would laugh and sing and play, and join in on the fun. Some nights, if she's not up for talking, he'll fly away to make his fun elsewhere.

But tonight, tonight he's thought up a great game to play.

So he whoops and hollers, and sends the children running indoors, a spark of fun on their faces, pestered by leaf and what moonbeams might dare to plunge to earth and play.

He rattles windowpanes and doorknobs, until parents call for their children, and then he's off, rattling and chattering.

He wants to make another round, make sure that every child is safe and snug and happy, but Twinetender gently chides him, pointing out the streams of dreamsand winding about. _Peace, Jack._ His old friend sighs. _There will be time for games tomorrow. And you did not want to miss this one._

Jack nearly pouts, because scraping at the windows is great fun. But then the leaves join in with Twinetender, singing cheerfully as the winds pick up. _Time for stories, time for games! Not time for frosting windowframes!_

And they laugh, and pull him along, until the wind leads them back to the Oak of Sorrows.

The old Oak is smiling down at Jack, and the Nod are all a-clustered in its branches. So Jack laughs, and dives into his hollow, chased by a thousand leaves, just as Emily Jane lets loose, and rain and hail start plunging from the sky.

Curled up nice and Small in the Oak in his nest of leaves, Jack peers about, picking some overeager ones out of his hair.

 _Bedtime stories, and bed time songs!_ He sings to everyone silently, in a voice he rarely uses. _Who's got a good one?_

Some of the mice take front stage, peering out from their nests and down at Jack. They cheep in small voices, clamouring for the attention.

Jack nods, and the tallest of the mice steps forward, wrapping herself up in a bit of red ribbon so everyone can see.

" _Needle nip, tuck and sew_

_Little dresses in a row._

_Ever mindful of the clock_

_Hear it, hickory, dickory dock!"_

Everyone claps, and she bows politely, moving back. Other mice step forward, with other fare. Some of their poems are longer, others are shorter. All are pleasant and enjoyable.

Twinetender chimes in next, sharing various myths and legends that he's listened in on with Jack over the years. Everyone laughs at B'rer Rabbit, or the foolhardy Raven stealing the moon. The staff is a good storyteller, and weaves the tales effortlessly, as he has done so many times.

After the staff has finished speaking, the Nod talk amongst themselves, before Winken shoves one particularly brash young warrior (Jack can never remember his name) forward.

The poor fellow looks like he's got stagefright for a moment, then launches into some bizarre tale about evil mandrakes (though everyone knows that), daisy queens, and a girl who's nearly Tall shrinking down rather past Small. Jack can't quite bring himself to believe it, no matter how much the Nod insists it really happened.

Soon after the leaves have had their turn ( _Boys climb high, chase leaves of green, seeking things they've never seen. Hello, hello, echoes loud, Hello, hello! Returning proud. Wrapped in branches, tricks to play. Games to guess and songs to say!)_ Jack shifts. It's his turn.

He laughs, thrumming to the birds in their nests, and the mice in their dens. Whispers songs he doesn't quite know the words to, but isn't sure that are real.

And when everything is curled up, nice and neat and fast asleep, Jack listens as the old Oak is singing songs of Moonbeams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Calm before the Storm


	26. Shadows, Part 1

Pitch Black longed for revenge. Revenge against the Guardians, against Jack Frost, and against every child who had dared laugh in the face of the Nightmare King.

The Guardians were easy enough to hate. Miscreants, rebels, and outcasts, who could never quite seem to understand that when you faced a destroyer of worlds, you didn't win. You certainly didn't taunt or boast. You simply died.

Jack Frost was harder to explain, but even easier to hate. Pitch longed to kill him, to make him suffer. That infuriating, bright boy with the quicksilver grin… The day he lay dim and dark at Pitch's feet could not come quickly enough.

Most of the children Pitch wanted revenge on were dead. By centuries, or by decades, but altogether dead. All but the Man in the Moon (Pitch still owed him a lifetime of nightmares) and the children of Burgess.

Belief faded quickly for them, as it did with most children. True, they still believed in the Guardians, though not one of them might admit it, but it was a waning belief. They would soon move on to new games, and new toys. The most he could do to them now were a few nightmares.

Pitch smirked in the darkness of his lair, hunched over the globe and watching the flickering lights. Most of the children of Burgess were beyond his grasp. One was not. One stubborn little boy, who waved belief around like some golden torch, was still his for the taking.

And revenge would be sweet indeed.

Jamie pulled his covers more tightly around his head, trying to get to sleep. But a night of soda pop, scary movies, and pepperoni pizza had done its work well. Sleep simply would not come. And Sandy's Dreamsand had faded sometime in between Attack of the Killer Babiers and The Thing from The Closet.

With a sigh, he looked up at his ceiling in a glower. His eyes traced the bumps and ridges, and he played for a moment that they were tendrils of fern-frost that Jack had painted in a fit of whimsy.

For a moment, he thought that he'd made up the figure of Pitch sticking his face out of one of the shadows.

With a grumble, Jamie pushed himself upright, and flicked on his flashlight. "What do you want, Pitch."

The bogeyman simply chuckled, drifting over to the foot of the bed. "What I always want. Revenge on the Guardians, and you wailing in terror." He reached out a hand as if to touch Jamie, but apparently thought better of it, and pulled back his hand. "And I heard that you had pizza and b-movies tonight. That's a golden opportunity for me."

Jamie just rolled his eyes. "I'm not scared of you, Pitch. Or any of your stories."

Pitch pulled up a chair and sat down. "Is that a challenge, Jamie Bennet? Because it sounds an awful lot like one." He tapped a finger against his chin. "Are you sure you want to face down the Bogeyman? The Guardians can't fly to your aid, you know."

"I know." Jamie pulled up his pillow, and leaned back against his headboard. "And I can take any story you throw at me. It can't be worse than The Carrot From Planet Twelve." He gave a shrug. "Besides, I could use a bedtime story."

"Very well." Pitch leaned back. "A story. Any that you wish, and I'll tell it. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Jamie thought for a moment. "I want to know how you became the Bogeyman."

Pitch blinked for a moment, and laughed. "That story?" He chuckled. "Are you sure you don't want lighter fare? One of my many battles with the Guardians?"

Jamie shook his head, and Pitch sighed. "Ah well. It's been a while since I've had the opportunity to tell it."

He conjured a fistful of Nightmare Sand, and spun it into odd wraiths. "To begin, you must understand the origins of Fear." With a flick of his wrist, Pitch sent the wraiths spinning around Jamie. "These are called the Fearlings, Jamie Bennet, and they are worse than any Nightmare you have seen me conjure."

Jamie resisted the urge to reach out and poke one, knowing it would just dissolve into glowing Dreamsand. "Where did they come from?"

"That is a riddle for the ages." Pitch replied. "Or it would be." He reached out and stroked one of the sand wraiths. "They were children once. Children just like you." The wraith skittered about. "Some lost their dreams, stolen by naughty pirates. Others I changed myself. And some…" Pitch's eyes sharpened. "Some were the victims of their own imaginations."

Jamie stared at Pitch, his eyes both sad and angry. "Can they be changed back?"

"No. There is no known cure." Pitch replied. "The Guardians have looked." He banished the wraiths, instead conjuring an odd looking ship, like someone had wrapped mothwings around a rock. "Long, long ago, before human civilization as you know it, the heavens were filled with light."

More ships joined the first, each with a new and spectacular design. "They called it the Golden Age. The heavens were ruled by the Constellations, good and wise rulers who loved their people dearly. Under their watchful eye, peoples of all worlds flourished and grew."

Jamie gave a quiet whoop. "Aliens are real!" he cheered. "I knew it!"

Pitch nodded. "Oh, very real. You've already met at least three, you know."

"Who?" Jamie could hardly contain himself.

"The Sandman, The Easter Bunny, and myself." Pitch counted out on his fingers. Jamie gaped at him.

"The Easter Bunny is an _alien_?"

"A pooka, to be precise. They were shepherds of worlds, and Bunnymund invented most of the plants and technologies that you enjoy today."

"Like watermelon?" Jamie seemed to be bursting at the seams. "Did Bunny invent watermelons?"

"They're egg-shaped, aren't they?" Pitch waved his hand, and more wicked looking ships darted in among the beautiful ones. "The Golden Age was beautiful, but not without its dangers. Dream Pirates and Nightmare Men would roam about, stealing good dreams from little boys and girls, gobbling them up."

"And that turned the kids into fearlings?" Jamie asked. Pitch gave a nod, and Jamie had to supress a shudder. He wasn't scared, not of Pitch's story. But the thought that kids could be turned into fearlings… "Were you trying to turn me into a fearling?" He asked softly.

Pitch blinked. "Actually, I was trying to kill you. But turning you into a fearling in front of the Guardians? That would have been amusing."

The ships darted about the room, twining themselves together. Pitch banished them quickly. "It will surprise you to know that I was not always Pitch Black." He said quietly. "Once, I was not so different from a Guardian myself."

"You? A Guardian?" Jamie had a hard time believing that.

"I was, once. Back then, I was called Kosmotis Pitchiner, hero of the Golden Age." Pitch was very still and contemplative. "I had a rather personal vendetta against the Dream Pirates, and vowed to never rest until each and every one was imprisoned."

"What kind of vendetta?" Asking might not have been the best idea, but…

Pitch did not seem bothered by the question. "They killed my wife. And my daughter…" he looked up, and gave himself a shake. "I guarded their prison for a long time, alone. Then, one day, I gave fell for one of their tricks. And I had nothing left to fight for."

For a moment, Jamie wanted to give the Bogeyman a hug. "I'm sorry." He said solemnly.

Pitch shrugged, and looked back to his usual self. "Don't be sorry. I am quite content with what I have become. I have no desire to go back to being that sort of snivelling coward."

He conjured another specter of a fearling. "The feeling of being a fearling is quite intoxicating." He said, stroking it. "You gain a new appreciation for fear, and for dreams as well."

"Why would that be a good thing?" Jamie asked.

Pitch looked lost in thought. "You're the one who stayed up late watching scary movies." Pitch pointed out. "All fears and frights are richer, and wilder. You savour them, and gain more from them." His eyes flickered to Jamie. "Imagine it. The taste of the fear on your tongue, the call of sweet dreams in your ears…" He stopped, as if listening to something. "Little Sophie is dreaming of those bizarre little eggs, you know."

Jamie tipped his head, bewildered. "I don't hear anything."

"Like little feet, scampering on the floor. The sound of grass brushing against eggshells. The heavy thunk of the Rabbit's paws." Pitch's eyes were distant, almost milky. "The rumble of a thousand feet, and the sound of her voice against stone."

For a moment, Jamie imagined hearing dreams. He closed his eyes, listening closely. Faintly, he thought he heard a sound like rainfall, that seemed to grow sharper as he paid closer attention.

Pitch gave a wicked smirk, unseen by the boy. Quietly, not enough to disturb him, but not enough not be heard, he whispered. "First, you feel a ravenous hunger, one only fear can fill. Then your skin turns inky, and your eyes milk white. Once your path is set, there is no stopping it."

He vanished into the shadows, leaving Jamie Bennet listening to the sounds of his sister's dream.

There is more than one way to snuff out a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first wrote this, I was trying to stay as close to Canon as possible. So this was less of a "what-is-probable" and more of a "what-is-possible". These days, they're some of my favourite chapters.
> 
> With the release of the fifth book, my policy on that has changed a bit, and I won't be trying quite so hard to stay close to canon, starting from Chapter 66.
> 
> So whether or not you want this to be canon to the fic I am leaving up to you.


	27. Shadows, Part 2

Jamie didn't hate school, but there were places that he'd much rather be instead. Skating on Jack's pond, or playing at the big old oak tree were a few. Having snowball fights or going sledding were others (especially in winter.)

So he was surprised to find himself so…content, when he walked through the doors and into the throng of other students.

At first, he'd wanted to dismiss seeing Pitch last night as a dream. Maybe the Bogeyman had tried to worm his way into the Dreamsand, or something. It wasn't impossible. But then he'd tried the trick Pitch had mentioned, the one for listening to fears and dreams.

His mother was worried about paying the bills on time. Sophie thought the bubbles looked like Easter eggs.

That, more than anything, had convinced him that the Bogeyman really had paid him a visit last night. That those stories he had told were true. And now, standing in the middle of the crowd of students, hearing all of the chatter, not just from voices, but from hearts and souls, he couldn't help but believe it whole-heartedly.

He knew that Pitch had said something, some other part of the story while he'd been listening to Sophie. Something about feeling hungry, and milk. But he hadn't quite caught it. It didn't really matter, though.

But Pitch had been right about being hungry. Three pieces of toast should have been enough to fill him up, and he did have a stomach ache from eating too much. It didn't help. The whole walk to school, he'd still been hungry.

Jamie blinked. He wasn't hungry any more. Not as much, anyway. It had died down to a quiet grumble, the easily ignored sort.

Jamie shoved his backpack into his locker, and pulled out his homeroom journal. Maybe Monty would have some ideas.

Out of all of his friends, Monty was probably the smartest. After Easter, he'd been in the school library, digging up everything he could on the Guardians, Nightmares, and the Bogeyman. If anyone had a clue as to what the Bogeyman was up to, it was him.

"I have no idea what he wanted." Monty whispered, scribbling in his notebook. "I guess he was just there like he said. To get revenge on the Guardians, and scare you."

"Yeah, maybe. But it doesn't make any sense." Jamie argued. "His story wasn't really that scary, and he knows I'm not scared of him."

"Yeah." Monty tapped his pencil on his lip. "Do you think that he was trying to turn you into a fearling?"

"Maybe." Jamie entertained the idea briefly, ignoring his suddenly grumbly tummy. "But he never even tried. Ever. He just said that the fearlings could hear dreams, and kind of showed me how to do it."

"Maybe that was his revenge." Monty pointed out, ducking behind his notebook as the teacher glanced their way. "Teach you some sort of scary trick so it would annoy the Guardians."

"Maybe." Jamie conceded. But he wasn't convinced. Pitch had to have an ulterior motive for being there that night. He just had to figure out what.

So he turned back to his books, trying to ignore the sudden feeling of Monty's worry, and how his stomach stopped grumbling.

None of the others had any other ideas. Everyone seemed convinced that the Bogeyman had only been there to try to scare him, and to capitalize on the weird creepy-benefits that seemed to come from a late night with too many scary movies, and too much pizza.

By lunchtime, Jamie was certain that the hunger-thing was related to the ability to sense fear that Pitch had given him. Whenever someone was nervous, or had good dreams (Someone had been asleep in the room above him, dreaming about scoring a winning touchdown), his hunger went away. When they weren't, it came back, stronger than ever.

But it wasn't until recess that they finally had a clue about what was going on.

It was no secret around the school that they still believed in the Guardians. They'd discussed it enough, and too loudly, after Easter break, to keep it hidden.

Most people just ignored it. Some people offered high fives.

Mitch was of the opinion that it made them weak, dumb, and the perfect targets.

He also sat two seats behind Jamie and Monty in homeroom, and had heard everything they said about the Bogeyman (Despite the fact that they were going out of their way lately to use the Guardian's proper names).

"I heard you earlier." Mitch sneered down at Jamie. "Talking about the boogieman like he put some kinda curse on you. Why don't you just grow up?"

Jamie didn't really like Mitch. He liked him even less when the boy was standing right in front of him. But now…

Mitch wasn't scared of them, or jealous of the fact that they still believed. But Jamie could feel all of his fears and insecurities bubbling to the surface, until the older boy couldn't hold back any longer, and landed a solid right hook on Monty's nose.

Fear and panic blossomed inside Monty, even as he scurried backwards to get away from Mitch's next blow. And Jamie's hunger, which had been restful feeding on just Mitch's insecurities, became nearly nonexistent.

Guilt filled Jamie. "Leave him alone!" he yelled at Mitch, leaping at the bully's arm and trying to pull him off of Monty. "Stop it!"

"Why should I?" Mitch sneered. "All you clowns are asking for a good socking!"

Jamie bit his lip, trying to ignore the way he was feeding off of Monty's pain and fear. "You've hurt him enough." Jamie said quietly. "Can't you see you've won?"

"Yeah. I have." Mitch sneered, standing up. "And now, it's your turn." He lunged out, trying to catch Jamie in a right hook.

Jamie hissed, and sidestepped the punch, as if it wasn't there. Reaching up, he grabbed Mitch's arm and threw him to the ground. "Never. Ever. Touch. My. Friends." He warned.

Mitch looked terrified, and just nodded, face pale. Jamie let go, and watched as Mitch took off. He turned back to his friends, frowning as their worry and anxiety suddenly skyrocketed. "What's wrong?"

Pippa stepped forward, passing him an empty pop can. "You look kinda…scary, Jamie."

Jamie looked at the pop can, twisting and turning it so he could get a good look at his reflection. It was hard to see in the dull metal, but his eyes…

Jamie dashed towards the door. Pulling it open, he ran for the bathrooms, feeling his friend's worry behind him.

He looked in the mirror, half afraid of what he would see.

Milky eyes looked back at him, and wisps of ink were starting to peel off his skin.

Jamie sank to the ground, even as the others crowded around him.

Caleb and Claude looked at each other, until Claude broke the ice. "Jamie, what's happening?"

Jamie took a shuddering breath. "I'm turning into a fearling."

Admitting it seemed to change something, and the air around them grew tight. "Ever since Pitch's visit, I can feel when people are afraid, or when they're dreaming. And I've been hungry too. Not for food, but for fear."

Cupcake knelt down beside him, and stroked at one of the inky wisps, watching as it turned to dreamsand under her fingers. "This is really serious." She said in disbelief. "How'd he manage to get you? You're braver than all of us."

"I dunno." Jamie admitted, looking at his fingers. They were starting to turn grey, and shedding the same inky darkness. "But, Pitch said there's no cure. The Guardians looked." Tears started to well up behind his eyes. "I'm gonna turn into a monster."

"No, you're not!" The others crowded around him. Cupcake looked determinedly at the others. "We can ask Jack. He wasn't a Guardian before, maybe he'll know something they don't."

Jamie shook his head. "I can't let Jack see. He – he's trusting me. I can't let him down like that!"

"Yes you can." Pippa said. "Jack's a Guardian, and he's supposed to protect you from Pitch. He won't mind you asking."

Jamie shook his head, screwing his eyes shut so the others didn't have to look at them. Even so, he could sense the moment that Pitch appeared.

The shadows seemed to cling to him in a way that Jamie had never noticed before, crawling and writhing at his every touch. The other kids just felt angry, all of their fear and pain directed like a lance at the Bogeyman.

"Pitch!" Caleb shouted, striking a kung-fu pose. "What did you do to Jamie?"

Pitch just laughed at them. "Not one single thing. Poor Jamie has done it to himself."

"Liar!" Cupcake hollered, throwing herself at the Bogeyman. "Liar! Change Jamie back right now!"

"I can't do anything." Pitch looked delighted at that. "Like I said before, I haven't done anything to him." He pointed at Monty. "Ask your friend there. To turn Jamie into a fearling, why, I'd have to touch him. And that is quite impossible, considering Jamie isn't afraid of me."

Monty looked and felt heartbroken. Jamie pushed himself upwards, glaring at Pitch. "You still did something, Pitch." He accused. "What is it?"

Pitch looked triumphant. "I made you _believe._ "

Everyone looked dumbstruck. Pitch smiled, almost giddily. "Oh, so I need to spell it out for you!" he sang. "Such a lucky day, indeed!"

Jamie felt his heart sink, looking around at his friends. "Fine. Tell us, Pitch."

"With pleasure." The Bogeyman bowed. "It is actually quite simple, dear child. You have a nasty tendency to believe in things, and to cling to your imagination. If someone tells you a tale, you can't help but play make-believe."

"How does that turn me into a fearling? Jamie asked. "Make-believe is, well, make-believe."

"It's still belief." Pitch pointed out. Jamie felt the moment his friends figured out what he meant, their fear growing and filling him. "Even when you make-believe, you still believe. And if one little boy believing in the Guardians can defeat a Bogeyman, what else can it do?"

Pitch put on a mocking expression, and summoned the same sand-pictures from last night. "What can it do, when that same little boy, who has had far too much pizza, and far too many scary movies, hears a story about monsters and space aliens? What can it do when that little boy hears about listening to dreams? What can it do…" He paused, smiling wickedly, and conjured a picture of a fearling. "When one brave, stubborn, silly little boy, decides to _play pretend_?"

Jamie could see the horror on his friend's faces, feel it roiling. All the while, Pitch grinned maniacally. "Do you remember my story, Jamie? About how the first fearlings came to be?"

"You turned some…" Jamie slowly replied. "And the pirates turned others…"

"And some," Pitch gloated, pointing at Jamie. "Some were victims of their own imaginations." He gave a low bow. "Congratulations, Jamie. I must admire how good you are at believing things."

Cupcake shook herself out of her trance. "But, if believing is what started turning Jamie into a fearling," she said, thinking. "Then wouldn't believing he wouldn't turn him back?"

Pitch clapped slowly. "Bravo, bravo." He said. "If I had told that story to any one of you here, you might have believed it for a while. But eventually, you would have stopped believing. You would have become dark, nasty, miserable grownups, but you wouldn't have wound up as fearlings."

"But Jamie." Pitch looked right at Jamie, at his milky white eyes and greying skin. "Jamie simply could not stop believing in the Guardians, even after every other light went out. So by all means." Pitch looked at them. "Tell Jamie to stop believing. You'd have better luck asking the sky to swim."

He was gone then, leaving them alone in the washroom. Jamie took a look at his friends, and then left. Pitch was right. He looked down at his hands, at the grey skin that was starting to get black and swirled at the fingertips. He simply believed too much.

He didn't bother going to class for the rest of the day. Instead, he moped around the park, trying to ignore the whispers of dreams and fears that swirled ever louder.

Soon, even the park offered no comfort. Jamie ran down the sidewalk, scattering autumn leaves as he bolted for his house. He yanked open the door, letting himself into the kitchen.

"Jamie? Is that you?" His mom called from upstairs.

Jamie didn't reply, pulling up a chair and curling up in it. His mother called again, heading down stairs.

When she poked her head into the kitchen, Jamie couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Sobbing, he bolted, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug.

Or trying.

Jamie fell right through, landing hard on the floor. His mother looked puzzled for a moment, before walking to check the door. "Jamie?" She called. "Are you there? The teacher called. Are you feeling alright?"

Jamie lay on the floor behind her. Slowly, he stood up, reaching out to take her hand. It turned misty and insubstantial, passing through like he didn't exist.

 _"can you hear me?"_ Jack's words from the first time they met rang in his ears. " _Can you see me?_ "

And that time, at the end of the battle, when he hadn't been looking where he was going, and had stumbled through Pitch.

He reached out a trembling hand, watching it pass right through his own mother.

Fighting back tears, he ran past –through- his mom, out the door, not even stopping to look back. She wouldn't see anything, anyway.

The leaves rushed about, stirred up by Jamie in his frantic flight. The wind carried them to the base of an enormous old Oak tree.

The Oak peered down at the leaves curiously. _Oh?_ The leaves danced about. _Is that so?_ The tree seemed almost amused. _Very well then._

Faces stirred in the branches. Tiny men and women, clad in armour and riding on birdback, fluttered down to the old tree, landing in front of its face.

 _Go find Jamie._ The tree said. _Don't let him out of your sight. And when you find him…_

_Call for the Guardians. Call for Jackson Overland Frost._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, I did turn Jamie Bennett into a fearling. For all of his sympathetic and noble traits, Pitch is still an unrepentant villain who delights in fear and terror, and I think he'd be insulted if I pretended otherwise.


	28. Shadows, Part 3

Jack scooped up another snowball, pitching it gleefully at an unsuspecting child. The child blinked, then laughed, dumping a whole heap of snow on his unsuspecting friend.

Jack watched for a moment, before reassuring himself that yes, the children were safe and happy, and best of all, having fun. With a laugh, he leapt onto the back of the wind, ready for more fun and games.

The silver peal of the Nods' trumpets nearly knocked him out of the air. Jack froze, the grin slipping from his face.

"Wind, take me home."

Home was the fastest way to find out what was wrong, the fastest way to find out why the Nod would be calling.

The wind was eager to help, scooping Jack up and sending him racing home as fast as it possibly could. Jack flashed from cloud to cloud, a pit of worry building inside.

He'd asked his friends to help. To keep an eye on things where he couldn't. For them to call…

Even with the wind's help, Jack didn't feel nearly fast enough. Not for this.

Jack landed just outside the woods of Burgess, not quite out of breath. Almost immediately, he was beset by a host of chattering animals, all anxious to see him. Birds twittered and pulled at his hair, snakes wrapped around his ankles. Rusby the squirrel ran up and down his body, winding and twisting in a frenetic hurry.

"Calm down." Jack ordered, watching as the wood fell quiet. "I'm on my way to the Oak. We'll discuss things there."

Most of the animals looked at each other, before dashing off towards the Oak of Sorrows. Jack took to the air, dancing through the branches, quick as moonlight.

It wasn't long before he'd arrived at his tree, choosing to perch on the old tree's biggest root.

The animals began pouring in, filling every nook and cranny full to bursting and then some. Whole heaps of leaves skittered watchfully, dancing on the wind with a rare urgency.

Jack turned to the Oak. "What's happened?" He asked. "What made the Nod summon me?"

The old tree looked worried and careworn. _Pitch has harmed a child._ The Tree said slowly. _Not through action, but by insidious words, twisting belief against itself._

"Which child?" Jack demanded furiously. "What did he do?"

The Oak's branches swayed worriedly. _He has harmed Jamie Bennet. Convinced the boy that he is becoming a fearling. And Jamie believes._

The wood was silent for a terrible moment. Jack did not yell, did not call a mighty storm. He merely sat down on the root.

Fearling. The word conjured up images of frightened children, and ragged wraiths that had once been children themselves. And it conjured up a deep, deep dread.

Jack stood, looking out at the wood. "I'll take care of this." He said calmly. "Don't let the Guardians know. They…might make things worse."

The Oak nodded, and every living thing chattered its approval. Jack turned to the Oak once more. "Where is he?"

_The old amusement park. I do not know where._

Jack nodded his thanks, and was gone. A child was in danger. And he was a Guardian.

The old amusement park was the perfect place for a fearling to hide. Full of rusted rides, creaky gates, and who knows what else, the once-happy atmosphere reflected their state of mind perfectly.

Jack landed outside the entrance. While he could have flown over, he needed to be careful. And not give Jamie a chance to run away again.

Taking a deep breath, he blew on the lock, watching it cover with frost. Carefully, Jack coaxed cold into the metal, turning it frail. He tapped Twinetender against the lock, watching grimly as it broke.

Snow began to fall, summoned by his melancholy mood, and covering the park in an eerie white.

Jack flitted from attraction to attraction, peering into old food stalls, and ride mechanisms, hunting for his friend-turned-shadow. The silence was eerie, the snow muffling all sound that seemed to approach.

He caught sight of Emily Jane once or twice, waving his old friend into silence. She simply nodded, dissolving into snowflakes as if she had never been, giving him the privacy that he needed.

Finally, Jack caught sight of a ragged figure hunched in the snow. Carefully, he walked forwards, staff at the ready.

Jamie looked up, and Jack had to bite back a gasp of concern.

There was nearly nothing left of the boy who had believed in Jack at Easter, who had faced down the Bogeyman with such daring. Instead, a sad wraith sat before him, tears frozen to his inky skin.

"Jamie?" Jack asked cautiously. "Jamie, can you hear me?"

The wraith stirred, and some light seemed to come back into his eyes. "Jack?" Jamie's voice was misty, and not quite there, but it was unchanged, and it was _Jamie._

Jack knelt in front of Jamie, and put down his staff. In one careful moment, he scooped the boy turned wraith into his arms. Giving Jamie a tight hug, Jack hummed out a wordless lullaby.

Jamie flinched for a moment, before hugging Jack back. "I'm scared." He said, voice almost breaking. "Jack, I'm scared."

Jack almost declared then and there that they were going to have some fun, like back in the alley. But one look at Jamie's heartbroken face drove the words from his lips. "Wanna tell me what happened?" He asked instead.

Jamie curled up tighter in his arms. "Pitch wanted to tell me a bedtime story. I thought, since I wasn't afraid of him, and he couldn't touch me, that he couldn't hurt me."

"And you believed his story." Jack finished gently. "Don't worry, Jamie. It's not your fault. Pitch is really good at tricking people. He's tricked me a couple of times, and it's always hurt."

Jamie was silent for a moment. "Mom couldn't see me." He said finally. "She couldn't hear me."

Jack's heart ached, and he pulled Jamie into an even tighter hug. Gently, he wiped the tears from Jamie's cheeks, freezing them into long, pretty icicles. "Don't worry, Jamie. We'll change you back. I promise."

Jamie looked up at him, milky eyes filled with sorrow. "But Pitch said there's no cure – that the only way was if I stopped believing that I was a fearling." He waved a ragged hand at Jack. "And I don't think that's going to happen."

"Just believe, Jamie." Jack coaxed. "Believe, believe, believe. I promise we'll find a way to change you back. There's no such thing as impossible if you just believe."

Jamie gave a small hiccup of laughter. "I think I learned that one."

"I'm serious." Jack grinned. "If you believe there's no cure, then there won't be one. If you believe there is, we'll find it." He ran a hand through his hair, thinking. "For starters, let's make sure that you don't change any more, okay?"

Jamie nodded. "Okay."

"Good." Jack put Jamie down. "We're going to go see Sandy, alright? He beat Pitch before, he's probably got the best idea of how to change you back."

Jack darted into the air, frowning when Jamie didn't follow. "Come on!" He called.

Jamie just frowned. "Jack, I can't fly!"

Jack laughed, memories of fearlings filling the sky. "Fearlings can fly, Jamie. And you look a lot like a fearling." He caught Jamie's hand, pulling the boy into the sky. He let go, grinning when Jamie hovered there, a bit wobbly. "See?"

Jamie reached out, lurching slightly. Wonder filled his eyes, and he lurched forwards again. Slowly, he got the hang of it, looking at Jack in joy and amazement. "Jack, I'm flying!"

Jack laughed, and ruffled the inky tendrils where Jamie's hair had been. "Told you so." He darted on ahead. "Now come on. Let's get you back to normal."

He led Jamie away, across the ocean and to the south, hunting for the Sandman's home. They were halfway to the Indian Ocean, when Jamie went stock still, listening to something.

"There's dreams nearby." He said. "Lots of them – millions!"

Jack nodded. "That's where we're headed." He said, pointing out an island made of golden dreamsand, crowned in an incredible castle. "Sandman's home – The Isle of Sleepy Sands."

They flew in low over the bay, admiring the myriad seashells that guarded the island from intruders. Gesturing for Jamie to stay where he was, Jack landed on the island, not flinching when a dozen sharp spearpoints aimed at him.

"It's okay." He told the seashells. "Jamie's a friend, and we're looking for Sandy. Is he here?"

The seashells shook themselves from side to side in a curious gesture, like shaking heads that weren't there. Jack shrugged. "Then we'll wait till he gets back." He glanced upwards at Jamie. He didn't think that Jamie could corrupt the dreamsand – Pitch had needed years of practice. But it was better to be safe than sorry, and it'd probably make Jamie feel better. "Do you guys have anything that isn't made of dreamsand? Something Jamie can sit on?"

The seashells gave their odd nod. Some of them trundled up to the castle, beckoning Jack and Jamie to follow.

They led the pair into the halls, to a room overlooking the ocean where a big red pillow sat. The seashells pointed to it, then turned and left.

"Come on, Jamie." Jack coaxed. "You can sit on the pillow."

Jamie sank onto the pillow gratefully. It was caked with little grains of dreamsand – there was little on the Isle that wasn't – and gave a huge yawn. He blinked up at Jack sleepily. "Is it okay if I have a nap?"

"Sure." Jack replied. "I'll keep an eye on things." He tugged the pillow over to a wall, sitting down crosslegged so that he was near Jamie's head. "Night."

Jamie squirmed, closing his eyes. He lay like that for about ten minutes, before looking up at Jack. "Can I have a good night kiss?" The boy asked plaintively. "Mom always gives me one."

Jack laughed, and gently gave Jamie a kiss on the forehead. "Good night, Jamie. Sleep tight." He reached over and picked up a handful of dreamsand, and sprinkled it in Jamie's eyes, humming a wordless lullaby. As Jamie fell asleep, Jack sent him a quiet thought. _I'll be here when you wake up._

The fearling child smiled, and curled up happily on the pillow, looking less ragged and more whole, as good dreams came for the first time in far too long.

Sandy drifted home, glad to be back for the moments of time until sunset reached North America. His dreamsand cloud dissipated turning to nothing more that grains of sand along the beach.

The shells came to greet him, sharing new stories that they had heard, and tales of new dreams. But one cluster of shells worried him. Jack Frost had come to visit, they said. Followed by a fearling.

Before they could finish, Sandy darted inside, summoning dreamsand whips. If there was a fearling here…

He found them in the bedroom (or at least, one of the bedrooms). Jack was sitting stock still, as if frozen. He didn't blink, and barely breathed, staff laid across his lap. On the pillow –his pillow!- the fearling lay curled up.

Almost without thinking, Sandy snapped his whip towards the fearling. Before it could touch it, though, there was a blur of motion, and Jack was standing at the foot of the pillow, dreamsand whip wrapped around his staff.

Jack's face looked urgent, and a voice echoed through Sandy's head. _Stop, Sandy, stop!_ The voice sounded an awful lot like Jack's, but… Sandy snapped out his second whip. Without blinking, Jack shifted his staff, catching the second as well.

The voice echoed again. _Sandy, stop! That's not a fearling, that's Jamie!_

Sandy froze, and looked at Jack. Jack stared back, gesturing urgently at the fearling – at Jamie Bennet. _I don't want to wake him up._ Jack said silently. _We were waiting for you._

Sandy traced a few symbols in dreamsand. Why were they waiting for him?

 _Pitch tried turning Jamie into a fearling._ Jack said, returning to his former seat. _It's not like what he did before, though. We can change Jamie back._

Sandy stepped closer, investigating the ragged shape that was Jamie Bennet. It looked more solid than most fearlings did, and nowhere near so tormented. Sandy gestured again.

Jack seemed to pick up on his meaning easily. _Pitch used Jamie's belief. If we can convince Jamie that he won't change anymore, then he won't. If we can convince him he'll change back, he will._

Sandy frowned in thought. A few more gestures. Had Jamie improved after falling asleep? A good night's sleep sometimes helped.

Jack nodded. _He used to be more ragged, more shadowy. Now…_

Sandy beamed. What had Jack done? Was it just the dreamsand?

Jack shrugged. _He asked for a good-night kiss. His mom always gave him one._ Jack's voice turned sad. _He passed right through her, Sandy._

Sandy almost didn't hear the last part. A good-night kiss, then dreamsand. Jack was sure? In that order?

Jack nodded, bewildered. Sandy was ecstatic. This was a solution! But how to tell Jack? Dreamsand and lucky guesses weren't enough to convey this particular concept. But maybe… an old dream?

Sandy darted out the window, scooping up a brave young seashell. Carefully, he sprinkled dreamsand into the shell, and handed it to Jack.

It wasn't a full dream – just fragments of one, dreamed by a moonbeam long ago. He knew the dream by heart, as he did all of his dreams, and knew what Jack was hearing as the boy held the excited shell up to his ear.

_The Magic Kiss of the Good Night. So powerful is this kiss. Takes away all the hurts. Makes the scare and the sad go to nothing._

Good night kisses, properly given, with love and care, had the power to soothe any hurt. And Jack's eyes widened, looking closely at Sandy.

"A good night kiss!" Jack whispered, too elated with this discovery to bother with thought. "We can save Jamie!"

Sandy nodded. It would take time, but yes. They could save Jamie from this terrible fate. Pitch hadn't won yet. He swirled up some dreamsand, sending Jamie the very happiest dream that he could, watching as the fearling slowly became less of a fearling, and more of a boy.

It took a week of Good Dreams and Good Night Kisses before Jamie was close to being back to normal. A week spent invisible to those who could not believe, slumbering and playing on the Isle of Sleepy Sands.

Sandy dropped by every night to give Jamie a good dream, while Jack continued the routine that seemed to be working. A good night kiss, then dreamsand and his wordless lullaby, guarding Jamie tirelessly until dawn broke.

Jamie was still a bit ragged around the edges, and his eyes were still pale, but he was Jamie again, and not a scrap of shadow.

Sandy had assured both Jack and Jamie that the Good Night Kiss had done its work, and that not only would these marks fade quickly, but Pitch would never again be able to turn Jamie into a fearling.

Jack watched silently as Jamie hurried into the Burgess Police Station, watched as not ten minutes later, Jamie's mother pulled up and dashed frantically inside the building. His heart warmed, driving off the last of the anxiety of the week.

Everything was as it should be.

But for now? For now, he needed to track down Pitch, and let the rest of the Guardians know what had happened.

And Jack laughed, playing in the wind once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe one day, I should touch on the repercussions that this has had. After my current backlog, of course.


	29. Black and White

It was common knowledge that Jack Frost was on the Naughty list. It was even better known that he held the record for getting on the naughty list. That he held almost all the records was a less-well known fact.

Jack didn't know if everyone else had different 'naughty list records', but it gave him something to aim for every year.

The first few years, he went for 'most years on Naughty list'. That was probably the one that most people thought of. But after a while, it had gotten boring. And Jack had decided to get creative.

So he had made his own list, of ways to get on the naughty list. Then he had gotten some of North's elves (and his own), to send him a copy of the list every year, and had started making his categories.

They were creative, and he was always coming up with new ones. Last year had been "Most people stuck to their chairs with syrup" at 3,849 people. The year before it had been "Largest number of wreaths threaded on a lightpole (786).

This year, he had a new category to try for. One he hadn't managed to succeed in yet. "Most unique outfits ruined". And this year, he was targeting the Guardians. Already, he'd sculpted Sandy into a sandcastle (the little Guardian had volunteered, and they'd had a grand time coming up with something really creative), painted polka-dots on most of Tooth and her mini-fairies feathers, trimmed Bunny's best robe into Bermuda shorts, and replace every elf on the pole's pointy hats with sombreros.

For his latest and greatest trick, however, he'd reached an impasse.

"No one told me Santa had two suits!" Jack whispered to the Yeti who'd let him in.

Two suits sat in front of Jack. One was the suit he'd seen North fight Pitch in, trimmed handsomely in black fur with a traditional Russian cap. The second was the Santa Suit. The one on pictures, and on postcards.

Jack had only brought enough tie-dye (snatched from Bunny) for the black suit. He'd only planned for one. And he still had Pitch to redecorate.

Pitch… That gave Jack a grand idea. "Do you have any oil for the machines around here? The sticky, black used stuff?"

The Yeti blanched, and gave a cautious nod. Jack gave a whoop, and set to work prepping the black robe. Soon enough, it was soaking in the various egg-shaped tanks, and Jack was hauling the white suit behind his Yeti guide.

The oil was in a machine room, stored in sturdy wooden drums far from any chance of spark or fire.

His Yeti guide bowed, then took off like a rocket, eager to place as much space between Jack and a chance on the Naughty list as possible.

Jack opened up the barrel, and picked up the robe. He shoved the robe in, stirring it around a few times to get it well and truly soaked. Floating above the barrel, he used the crook of his staff to haul the robe out of the oil.

Everything would have gone according to plan had North not barged in, waving a beautifully tie-dyed coat, swirling with yellows, greens and blues.

"Jack Frost!" North thundered.

Jack gave a squawk of alarm, and dropped Twinetender. Gravity caught up to him rather quickly, sending him tumbling into the barrel of oil.

Sheepishly, he poked his head out, looking at both coats, and at North. Jack blinked, covered head to toe in filthy grunge, and grinned.

"I was improvising?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some brevity, after the last chapters.


	30. Scratches

The icy hills of the Himalayas shook, echoing with a sound like thunder.

From his perch in a rather prickly pine tree, Jack watched his target carefully. He shifted slightly, Twinetender held at the ready.

His 'target' was hard to miss. An enormous Yeti, almost taller than the Oak of Sorrows, sat in the clearing in front of him, holding a sketchbook and apparently drawing the scenery. His eyes were fixed on a bird's nest, sketching curlicues in charcoal with great finesse.

Finding a giant Yeti was easy. Sneaking up on one was a little harder, but not too difficult, especially for Jack. The tricky part was waiting, waiting for the right-

Jack leapt into action. The yeti had shifted slightly, exposing his one weak point. In one grand bound, Jack landed on the Yeti's shoulder, and had hooked Twinetender's crook around the gentle giant's ear. Gently, he gave it a scratch.

The Yeti gave a start, glancing at Jack for half a moment before he melted into a blissful heap of giant Abominable.

Jack continued to scratch, fighting back a grin as the Yeti started purring. He jumped up on the great fuzzy head, shifting slightly so that he could reach the base of both ears.

The Yeti just stayed put, humming and purring happily. And Jack was only too happy to oblige.


	31. The Lermontoff Serpent

Children know the Lermontoff Serpent. They know him in the same way that they know the Bogeyman, or the monster in the closet. They know that he is. And they know to fear him.

He glides through their dreams, sibilant and hungry, the great snake that they dream about coming for them to gobble them up. He changes in these dreams, different from child to child. But always present. Always hungry.

Sometimes, he attacks head-on, great and writhing and fearsome. Sometimes, he is slender and subtle, never quite revealing himself until it is too late.

He has a particular talent for drawing unlucky children deeper into the dream, closer to his coils. Deep enough that they can touch the rasp of his skin, smell the stink of his breath, or feel the burn of his venom.

When he comes stalking through the dream-world, children run. Here is a foe they cannot defeat, that will haunt their sleep even in waking hours.

Jack Frost is a boon and a blessing. No child will suffer this serpent while he stands watch. He will hunt down this serpent wherever it lurks, pull it from the dream-world and trap it in the real, where the Serpent's power, while fearsome, is not quite so great.

He will drive forward, lashing at it with frost, calling the leaves to bar its fangs. For Jack does not fear the Lermontoff Serpent. He will drag the beast back to the Valley of Lost Dreams. Back past the remnants of bright and cheerful dreams, past the swallowed and withered husks that the Serpent has left.

The Snake will get out again. It will find new dreams to haunt, new children to devour. It always does.

But Jack will always be there to drive it back.


	32. The Serpent's Hunger

The Valley of Lost dreams is not a difficult place to find, for a dreamer. It is easy to slip in and out, heedless of what lurks within. Finding it in the waking world is a greater challenge. The wind does not dare enter, does not shoo away the gathering clouds.

All manner of plant and animal shun the Valley, save for those few who have let their hearts grow wicked and spiteful, lashing out at any who might dare to have a bright and merry heart.

So it was a still, silent, terrible place, shrouded in fog that Jack found.

For days, he had been hearing tales of nightmares of terrible snakes, with gaping mouths and burning eyes. Nightmares that left children fearful, and watchful, unwilling to play. The Nod had been wary, watching for any trace of this nightmare snake.

And their watchful gazes had told him of this Valley, where none entered who wished to return.

Jack looked around the Valley cautiously. It was not a large place. Just small enough to fit into the gaps of places, and to lie in wait. A single path ran through it, one that trees closed and hedges guarded as soon as he passed by.

The Valley wanted him to meet its Master.

It led him to a cave from which a dank wind flowed, one that did not know him, that sneered when he called. It did not bow to nature, did not bow to the child-king before it. It was a wind of nightmares, of dark places, and darker dreams.

Jack ignored its whispers in his ear, stepping into the cave. When it grew too dark to see, he let light spill from his staff, illuminating the strange and twisting rocks in an eerie glow.

It was not fair to call the cave a maze. For all of its twisting and winding passages, the stones had been worn smooth over countless years.

"Who dares step where he does not belong?" A voice called out, low and cold. "Who dares step on my stones, in my cave, on my land?"

"I am Jack Frost!" the boy replied, raising his staff high so that he could see. "I dare!"

"Dare indeed." For a moment, there was nothing. Then the shadows in the tunnel ahead moved. Jack caught sight of a massive serpent, much larger than what the Nod had described to him, watching his every move with cold, hard, cunning eyes.

The Snake ran out its tongue, tasting the air. "Why do you walk here, Jack Frost? Why do you walk in this place children are not welcome?"

"You've been stealing dreams, snake!" Jack pointed his staff at the serpent. "Now give them back!"

"Stealing dreams?" the Serpent asked with a chuckle. "What petty words, Jack Frost. I am not one to merely steal a dream."

"Then where are they?" Jack asked. "What have you done with them?"

The Snake moved then, unfolding its coils and circling about. "What have I done? I _eat_ , Jack Frost. I _eat,_ I _Hunger._ I _Devour._ I consume _all_ , and return _nothing_. What have I _done_ , Jack Frost?" It reared up. "I have _dared._ And no boy-child and his magic _stick_ can stop me!"

It lunged, swift as lightning. In an instant, Jack jumped up, letting the massive head slide under him. Bringing his staff to bear, he let loose a volley of frost on the Snake's scales.

The Snake didn't even flinch as pretty patterns of fern frost traced their way down his spine. Instead, he rolled over, shooting out his tongue to snare Jack's ankle, and pull him into its mouth.

Jack gave a whoop of alarm, sticking his staff in the Snake's jaws before they could snap shut. Clinging to his staff, he quickly took a deep breath, blowing a blast of freezing cold on the Snake's tongue. As the Snake hissed in displeasure, Jack flew out, tugging his staff loose before it shattered into splinters.

The Snake gave a roar, throwing its coils forward and catching Jack fast against the stone. It pressed down, threatening to crush him. "Your games won't work, boy!" it hissed. "I have seen them all before, and I have always _won_!"

"Do you know this one?" Jack raised a hand, forming a long, icy dagger. Quick as lightning, he brought it down, deep into the coil that pinned him.

The Snake gave a howl of pain, spitting a stream of burning venom at Jack's face. "You will pay dearly for that!" it cried as Jack tried to wipe the venom from his eyes. It pressed harder against the stone. "Do you understand, child? _I will crush you!_ "

Jack gasped for breath. Desperately, he slammed the butt of his staff against the rock wall, sending jets of ice into the stone. Once, twice, thrice he sent bolts of frigid cold into the rock. Three was enough.

The stone cracked, split apart by the ice. A jagged fissure grew from where Jack had hit the wall, spinning out across the ceiling and sending chunks of stone tumbling down. The Snake hissed, redoubling its efforts to crush Jack.

One large stone caught the Snake across the head, stunning it for a moment. For that one, brief, shining moment, its coils loosened. Jack did not waste the opportunity. He slipped out of the Snake's grasp, flying headlong back towards the entrance. A yowl of pain filled his ears, and he looked back at the Snake.

Once-bright sand poured off its face where the stone had struck, exposing white bone and a burning eye. The Snake lay pinned by massive boulders, glaring hatefully at Jack.

"Do not think this is victory, Jack Frost." It hissed as the cave collapsed. "Do not _dare_ to think that this is enough to stop me."

Dust filled the air, leaving Jack alone at the entrance. The Snake's words echoed in his mind, a caustic, burning jibe. _I consume all, Jack Frost. I devour all. Run and play, little boy. One day, I'll eat you, too._


	33. Antarctica

All of the games in the world cannot mend Jack's aching. When the hurt, and the loneliness become too much, and turn to cold and ice.

When he begs the moon for answers, knowing that the moon will not (cannot) reply.

Jack is fast. But even he cannot outrun his own sorrow.

Sometimes, he returns Home, back to the Oak of Sorrows. Back to the mice, and the leaves, and the Nod. There, he lets the Oak sap away his sorrows, taking away the sting, and soothing it into a dull ache.

Sometimes he seeks out the solace of the Yetis, staying for days at a time, making bright the days of yeti children, who are always eager to play. He revels in these children who see, who respond to games with happy faces.

When the sorrow grows too great for anything to bear, he turns southward, to the wild whites of Antarctica. Here, he is as near to being alone as he can possibly get. He can forget when people pass through, heedless (For there is no one here to try). He can forget scornful comments that "Jack Frost is just an expression."

He can forget the wild, heartbroken expressions of the Guardians, when he has broken their trust.

And he can do his best to ignore how that breaking hurts the very worst of all, in places long forgotten.


	34. Harvest

Seasons come and go, and so it was with one fine, hot, golden summer. But while men packed up their harvests, and before the woods got down to the business of Fall, all the birds and beasts, every bug and leaf of the Tangle-Woods gathered for a grand Harvest Ball.

From the smallest cricket to the grandest bear, all things that walked or crawled, swum or flew, began to put on their finest of clothes. The Rabbit looked fine in his last summer coat, golden before winter turned it to a pretty white. The beetles sewed up their frock coats, and dusted off their top hats and spats, and the mice ran around helping everybody.

The whole of the wild wood was in an uproar, and the world of men knew better to intrude. For the wood prepared to welcome their king, for a long winter of stories and games.

Every creature knew that Jack Frost came and went as he pleased, walking all paths alike and without fear. But fall and winter were his. His to command, to play with. And so this year, at the close of the season and before the bustle, they held their grand ball in his honor.

When everything was prepared and arranged, they all set down their tools, and walked solemnly to the edge of The Pond. Ducks and Boatmen offered lifts to those who could fit, and those that could not sat on the shoreline, or climbed up the cattails.

Just after sunset, when the last rays of the sun still lit the sky, Jack Frost arrived.

Glittering armour covered him from head to toe, gleaming bright in the fading light. At his back he carried a satchel of arrows, and a sword of curious make at his side.

Leaves danced before him, and an entire flock of the Nod, perched on autumn waxwings, flew at his back.

Gently, Jack alit on the pond. Ice crackled out from his feet, rushing to the edges of the pond. Where it touched the shore, gentle curls of fern frost wound themselves about, and leaves changed from green, to shades of red and orange and gold. Quietly, the ice thickened, until it did not crack underpaw.

A pair of black bears brought out a stump that had been struck by lightning earlier that year. They had carved it with powerful claws in the rough shape of a seat, decorating what branches remained with bright leaves, fresh flowers, and sprigs of berries.

Jack took a seat, and rapped his staff on the ice.

"Let's get this party started!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last day of a golden summer.


	35. Forever

He had known that this battle would come. Somewhere in his heart, Jack had known that he would face Pitch Black again.

But he hadn't expected this.

"That little trick won't work on me any more!" The Bogeyman leered, effortlessly blocking a bolt of Jack's ice with his bare hands.

Jack hadn't expected Pitch to be so strong. He hadn't expected the relentless force of endless waves of Nightmares bearing down on him and forcing him from the sky.

Even when his heart almost screamed at him that he should have expected far worse.

Hitting the dumpster hurt a lot, but not more so that Jamie's distressed look, or the way North's heavy handed clap on the back barely rattled him.

"That was good try, Jack. A for effort." North soothed.

It wasn't. Not really. Because Jamie was in danger. Jack could feel the boy's fear tugging on his heart, in places he didn't know existed. He was going to fail. He was going to…

Jack blinked. Going to what? What was so bad that he thought would happen? "He's stronger." Jack gasped out, climbing to his feet. "I can't beat him."

And that bothered him. Bothered him in ways that he couldn't explain, couldn't even put into words.

Laughter startled him out of his reverie. "All this fuss over one little child!" Pitch leered, his shadow circling them on the wall. "And still he refuses to stop believing!" the lights flickered, making the shadow seem _bigger_ and _larger_. "There are other ways to snuff out a light."

Pitch knew just how to unsettle them. Lights burst under his touch, sending sparks skittering over the pavement.

Jack almost missed Bunny's retort, the Pooka stepping forward boldly as if he was still six feet tall. He couldn't let Pitch get to Jamie. He couldn't let him… what? Jack racked his brain, trying to find the answer that eluded him.

Pitch ignored Bunny's bravado, stalking forth from the shadows. "I can't tell you how happy it makes me to see you all like this." The Nightmare King stepped into the light, eyes alight with a mad hunger. "You look awful."

The shadows reached out, grasping and hungry. Blood pounded in Jack's ears like cannonfire. He had to protect Jamie. He had-

"Jack." The sound of his name startled Jack out of his trance, and he looked at the younger boy. Jamie's eyes were wide, and filled with a sad terror. "I'm scared!"

Jack bit back a gasp, recalling his sister, and the same terror in her eyes so long ago as ice cracked under foot.

And under that, deeper, another set of eyes, another child. And the self-same fear.

Cannonfire echoed in Jack's mind. White hot light, and mad laughter. Mother(?) and Father(?) and a warm weight in his arms.

And ancient words, long sought after, rang through his brain.

_Watch over our child._

_Guide him safely from the ways of harm._

_Keep happy his heart, brave his soul, and rosy his cheeks._

_Guard with your life his hopes and dreams._

_For he is all that we have, all that we are,_

_and all that we will ever be._

Where the words had come from, or who had said them, Jack could not say. They were not from his past life, before Jack Frost. Nor were they from the last three hundred years. They were dim echoes, long forgotten and washed away so very, very long ago.

But now he knew. Who he was, where it truly mattered. And what he had to do.

"We're going to have a little fun instead." He whispered to Jamie, ignoring the boy's confused look.

"So what do you think, Jamie?" Pitch taunted, inadvertently giving Jack the opening he needed. "Do you believe in the Bogey-"

_WHAAP!_

A snowball smacked Pitch right in the face. Hurriedly, Jack made another snowball, grinning at Jamie as everyone (even some of the horses) burst out laughing.

"Now let's go get your friends." Jack pointed to some industrial supplies stacked nearby.

* * *

Gathering the children was _easy._ Jack grinned as he made a trail of ice down the street. He threw a snowball at Cupcake's window, startling her out of a particularly nasty nightmare.

 _I will watch over the children of Earth,_ he thought, watching her grab her sled. _Guide them safely from the ways of harm._

Barely pausing, he snagged the back of Jamie's pyjamas, setting off a snowfall in Monty's room, and hoisting Jamie up to Pippa's window. He delighted in her disbelief, and then awed wonder.

 _Keep happy their hearts_ as Monty zipped up his coat jubiliantly, _Brave their souls_ as Cupcake sailed by giggling, _And rosy their cheeks_ as Caleb and Claude woke up to Christmas presents on Easter Monday.

They sailed down Main Street, with Jack triumphantly leading the way. _For they are all that I have_ , he reflected.

 _All that I am,_ as he stood between them and Pitch, ready to fight to the very last.

And as Jamie boldly reached out to touch nightmare sand, as the night was filled with glowing gold – _All that I will ever be._

And all around him, the Guardians could feel it too. Pitch could no longer deny the Guardians their power. Could no longer force the children to believe that he could hurt them. Could no longer keep away his own fear.

Especially not after Sandy's triumphant return. (Pitch dreamed of pretty little butterflies. He wanted a camera.)

They gathered on the pond in the growing light.

Jack's heart was lighter that it had been in a long time – far longer than he could ever remember it being. And North simply clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Are you ready to take Oath?" The Guardian asked. "You know – to make it Official"

Jack remembered the words of that long-ago Oath, remembered what he had decided only minutes ago, and nodded.

North pulled out the big Guardian's book, thumbed through it for a couple pages, and cleared his throat.

" _Will you, Jack Frost, Vow to watch over the children of the world?_

_To Guard them with your life – their hopes, their wishes, and their dreams?_

_For they are all that we have, all that we are, and all that we will ever be._ "

The words rang deep inside Jack, and he looked at Jamie. This was not an Oath newly made, nor a mere retaking.

This was renewing who he was, reaffirming what he believed, and remaking what was broken.

How could he say no? He gave North a nod. "I will."

* * *

_Nightlight, Bright Light_

_Sweet Dreams I bestow._

_Sleep tight, All night._

_Forever I will Glow._

* * *

NON-CANON OMAKE:

"You messed up the Oath, North."

Jack pouted in the sleight. North didn't look back, but kept his eyes on the skies.

"Did Not. Oath has always been like that!"

Jack gave a small tut-tut. "Where were the lines about happy hearts and rosy cheeks, then? You left out half of it!"

Bunny looked at Jack oddly. "How do you know that?" The Pooka asked. "That version's from before you were born!"

Jack shrugged. "I remembered it. Along with the original Oath I took on the Moon Clipper."

Silence filled the sleigh for a moment. Then everything happened at once.

Tooth tackled him out of the sleigh. North fainted. Bunny screamed as the sleigh went groundward.

And Sandy just clapped in enjoyment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally released on the day that the Jack Frost picture book was released, and it was a commemorative chapter. I had hinted at the fact that Jack used to be Nightlight (It was revealed in the online synopsis for the book) in the other chapters, but this was the first time that I had addressed it directly.


	36. Snowball

Most elves are not the brightest of folk. There are exceptions – North's old bandits were much more on the ball than the younger scamps. But they have a delight for making mischief, no matter what – or who – their target is.

It had taken hours to haul all of the snow into the Pole. Hours to turn it into snowballs, and hide it anywhere that there was exposed ice to keep it from melting.

After that, it was open season on every man, elf, yeti, or reindeer that wandered by.

Most of the yetis simply brushed off the snow and went back to work. The other elves, of course, joined in. (How could they not?).

North squealed when they dumped a bucket of snowballs down his coat. Or at least, former snowballs. Now they were more of lumps of slush in ice water.

One enterprising elf went out scouting, searching for un-snowballed people and reindeer, carrying two fat snowballs, his bell ringing merrily.

Aha. Perfect target.

The elf didn't know what Jack Frost was doing up at the Pole. Either sneaking in (again) or playing with the toys, probably. It really didn't matter, either. He put one of his snowballs down, and started winding up to throw the other one.

Jack seemed to have a sixth sense for snowball fights. He put down the toy that he was looking at, and deftly wrapped the elf around the crook of his staff, lifting the elf to get a better look at him.

The elf didn't waste time being surprised. Not when he was so close. Not when he couldn't miss.

He threw the snowball, hitting Jack squarely on the shoulder. His grin went wide as he watched Jack turn his head to avoid the worst of the blow. Snow fell from his messy hair, landing in soggy clumps on the floor.

A smile appeared on Jack's face. One of his eyebrows went up in curiosity. He looked at the elf out of the corner of his eye, an unspoken expression on his face. _You think to take on the master?_ The Look said.

The elf nodded, bobbing and swinging from Jack's staff, bell ringing merrily. It scooped up the second snowball, and got ready to throw.

Jack's grin got bigger. _Bring it._


	37. Lunacy

Jack had been trying to track down the Yetis when he found it. A castle, perched on top of a mountain, covered from head to toe in blue lapis and sheets of silver. And moon symbols. Lots and lots of them.

Moons in crescent and in gibbous; that waxed and waned. At full and half and new, and every shade in between.

And if that wasn't enough, moon-faced monks with moon-shaped hairdos and moon-patterned robes. Very annoying monks with moon-shaped hairdos and moon-patterned robes.

Jack watched silently from the roof as the most monk-like of the men struck on a gong, summoning the picture of someone so kind, so gentle, that for a moment, Jack couldn't be mad.

 _The Man in the Moon._ Jack knew. He watched as the monks spoke to the Man in the Moon about something, tried to ignore how the Moon smiled at that, tried to ignore the fact that the Moon was talking to these…mindless monks, and refusing to answer his questions.

Tried to ignore the pain and sorrow that dredged up in his heart, or the way that the weather turned stormy.

He made sure that all of the monks were…preoccupied, and flew off to cause some mischief. Every water pipe frozen, every floor turned icy. Windows coated in ice so thick that you couldn't see out of them, and flames frozen on their candles.

And when the monks came back in, Jack took a wicked pleasure in dumping snow on top of their moon-shaped heads and ruining their moon shaped hair. In watching moon monks slide into moon shaped chairs.

And of course, the icing on the cake, a snowball thrown squarely at every single monk's annoyingly moon-shaped face.

And he could almost, _almost_ forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gibbous moons are my favourite, mostly because they don't get enough credit.
> 
> There's a tendency when we're writing to pretend that the characters that we're writing are perfect. We don't like to admit their faults. Learning to write those flaws is probably the hardest thing that I've ever encountered.
> 
> But, like Pitch, I think that Jack would be angry if I glossed over his flaws, and pretended that everything was fine when it wasn't. So Jack's anger and pain gets the best of him here.


	38. Memory Box

The past is a funny thing. Sometimes, it is a wistful, pleasant place, that we cherish deeply in our memories. Sometimes, it is a terrifying beast, better left tucked into closets and under beds where it cannot hurt us.

Sometimes it is a sad and lonely thing.

For Jack, it was often the latter. Sad memories, with golden happy times, islands in a dark nothing.

He'd tried to chase the fog away. Viewed every memory that he could glean from his teeth a hundred times, cherishing each bright and painful moment.

But the fog was too deep, too thick for him to chase away on his own. So he'd sought out the aid of the one person who specialized in things like this.

As always, the Tooth Palace was a blur of activity. Countless mini-fairies flying to and fro, carrying coin or parcel, or tooth of every type. The only thing missing was its queen.

Jack spotted Vanish commanding the mini-fairies, a bored look on her face. Before he could spot him –or come after him- he flew down a level, waving a hand at a cluster of resting mini-fairies.

"Do you guys know where Tooth is?" he asked quietly. "I need to talk to her- about my memories."

The mini-fairies looked at each other, and nodded. One flew off, beckoning him to follow.

The fairiy led him away from the hustle and bustle of the towers, towards the ground and older parts of the palace. Here, the graceful spires gave way to beautiful bowers and golden carvings, empty of any other inhabitants.

The fairy stopped outside a cluster of trees gracefully blooming, and gestured inside. Without pausing for a response, she flew away, back up to the top.

Jack pushed aside the branches, fighting back a gasp at the sight before him.

The trunks of the trees were carved in the shape of beautiful winged women, as graceful and elegant as Tooth. Feathers turned to leaves, and what might have been hair bloomed in gentle flowers.

At the center, on the ground, Tooth sat tracing her fingers around a ruby box, humming something gently.

At a loss, Jack sent a thought out to the leaves. In an instant, one or two broke off from each tree, swirling gracefully about Tooth. She turned around, catching sight of Jack standing there.

Jack gave a nervous cough. "Am I bothering you?"

Tooth looked torn. "Not really. I was just…remembering."

Jack's own tooth box felt heavy in his pocket. "Oh." He knew how important memories were. "I can go, if you want."

"I don't mind." She preened her feathers nervously. "I can help you if you need something, Jack."

He frowned, and looked at the statue-trees again. The leaves were whispering oddly to him, more like Tooth's mini-fairies than actual leaves. "This is an interesting place." He said at last. "These…aren't normal trees, are they?"

At Tooth's confused look, he gave a sigh. "I talk to plants." He explained. "And these trees don't talk like any I've ever heard."

Tooth stood up and fluttered over. "They aren't." she said softly. "They're the Sisters of Flight."

"Like you?" Jack almost didn't want to ask. It felt like forbidden ground.

But Tooth didn't seem to notice. "Yes." She replied. "My mother's people." She reached up and brushed a blossom from a forehead. "Her sisters. My aunts."

"What happened?"

"Greed. And revenge." Tooth sighed. "If one dies, they all do. Hunters were looking for me, and my parents held them off. I only got to meet my aunts, before I had to say goodbye forever."

 _We were all someone before we were chosen._ Tooth's earlier words echoed in his mind. Almost without thinking, Jack reached out with Twinetender, and drew gentle patterns of frost on their gowns. "I'm sorry." He said.

Tooth just gave him a sad smile, and pulled him into a hug. "Thank-you, Jack."

Jack sat down in the middle of the clearing, listening to the voices of the trees, and of the stories they told. "Some trees contain memories." Jack said softly. "Spirits passed on, who remember their old lives." He gestured with his staff. "Like Twinetender." The trees rustled in the wind, and Jack smiled. "These ones do too."

His memories could wait, Jack decided. Tooth and the Sisters of Flight had been waiting far longer for this reunion.


	39. Dancing Upside-Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one requires the picture, I think. https://www.instagram.com/p/9lwlB6Cz9X/
> 
> To quote the text from the picture: "Jack doing a handstand because it seemed like the thing to do. Elves swiped his hoodie and cape and staff. He'll get em back later. He's just not in the mood. It's just time to tumble." - William Joyce

The room is empty – perfectly silent and perfectly still, filled with nothing more than wind and sun and dust dancing in the air.

So he fills the emptiness, because it begs to be filled. He dances, hesitantly at first, then more sure. One foot, another, and back again. The cool smooth grain of the wood feels good against his feet, and he bends over backwards, placing first one palm, and then another, flat on the floor, and lifts his feet to the sky.

This dance is better- so much better! – than the first attempt. He spins around, feeling dust motes dance on the breeze, feels the warm winter sunlight on bare skin. He is free – free! And there is nothing quite so wonderful, or so freeing, as dancing up and down.

There is no place for thought, for logic, in the here and now. There is only him, and this strange, wild, wonderful dance.

It is leaves dancing from the trees, and clouds playing in the wind. It is the first snow of winter and the last rain of spring. It is otters in the creek and fat little bumblebees all coated in pollen.

It is everything, and it is nothing, and is wonderfully refreshing to simply let himself be.

In a moment, the dance may end. In a moment, he may notice his audience, clustered at the door. He may.

Or the moment, the dance, the dream of sun on skin, may go on for as long as a child's eternity. It doesn't matter which.

It simply is.


	40. Forgotten

Jack likes the Forgotten man. Likes to watch him tend to the graves, and listen to him talk.

Sometimes, the man talks to Jack – and Jack thinks that this must be because everyone –even the moon- have forgotten him.

But the man is nice, and kind, and quiet. And Jack likes to decorate the gravestone with their funny little numbers, letting his frost cover them in pretty pictures.

There is no busyness here, just a gentle sort of _being._ And sometimes, it's what Jack needs.

The man never asks Jack his name – he doesn't need one, not here – and Jack never asks his. They just enjoy each other's company.

One day, Jack comes to visit, and finds no one. Just a new grave underneath a tree, with a funny little number.

And Jack just smiles sadly, and covers the grave in his finest frosts.

He will not forget the Forgotten man.


	41. Brick Joke

The thing about disappearing for a week is that grown-ups need answers. Jamie couldn't very well tell them that he'd nearly been turned into a shadow-monster by the boogieman, and stayed at the Sandman's palace to get better.

The adults would all panic at that.

So Jamie's told them a story that is close to true, minus all of the fantastic parts.

He tells them about a bad man named Kosmotis Pitchiner (he asks Sandy for the spelling) who gave him some scary medicine and tried to kidnap him, but Jamie ran away and stayed with a friend until the bad medicine went away.

It's fairly believable, as far as stories go. And a description of a pale-skinned man with wavy black hair and grey eyes (that almost look gold, sometimes) in a dark robe is believable (if you leave out the whole nightmare king thing).

So it comes as quite a surprise to Pitch when one particularly dedicated policeman draws his gun and points it at the Bogeyman, declaring that he is under arrest.

The policeman believes that he can arrest the Bogeyman. So he arrests the Bogeyman.

And then Jamie has to go to court, telling them what Pitch had done (carefully edited). Pitch is so amused that he plays along.

And Jamie thinks that Pitch might be the slightest bit lonely, because everyone can see him right now, and fifteen to twenty years in jail is nothing, and they cannot exactly force him to stay.

But it makes the memory of the shadows a little easier to bear, when Jack tells him in between fits of laughter about how Pitch looked absolutely startled at being seen.

By a _policeman_ , no less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a follow-up chapter to the "Shadows" arc. I simply couldn't let Pitch get away without some sort of comeuppance. Besides, the power of belief is a funny thing, and a lot of fun to play with the concepts of.


	42. What the Heart Sees

There is a plane in the desert. And Jack thinks this odd for a moment – but the wings are all torn and tattered, and the engine is a-coughing great big gobs of thick black smoke, so it really isn't too surprising to find that there is a plane in the desert, so far away from the rat-a-tat of the guns.

There is a man with the plane, a man Jack does not know, but likes right away, and watches –Small as he can be – as the man shouts and curses just like Monsieur Eiffel did when he was mad and rattles about the plane trying to make it fly.

The man cannot see Jack – snow and winter in the desert is a bit much for even thirsty minds – though Jack does take the time to cover the dunes in his very best fern-frost. But Jack stays anyway, filling the silence with all his thoughts, trying to ease the man's loneliness.

And they are not alone. For the Snake is about, scowling and prowling, and trying to take the man's dreams – to make him despair, and sorrow, and die. So Jack fights – boy and serpent locked in vicious, silent struggle.

So it is with joy that Jack hears the engine hum and sing and soar, and watches wheel-tracks in the sand.

Later, much later, he hears that the man has died, and visits the gravestone, laughing and singing, as Small as he can be. And he thinks that the man must be happy, somewhere, somehow. For the grave is covered in Roses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by The Little Prince
> 
> Because the titular Prince and his wise ways, and the optimistic melancholy of the story remind me very much of Nightlight, and the works of William Joyce.


	43. The Metamorphosis

The library has a musty smell, as Jack slips in the door, quiet as can be.

He's waited til' everyone Tall and Small has said their goodbyes and left, so that it's only him and the books.

They almost sing to him, memories of wood and leaf that now bear written word –almost, but not quite.

And Jack pulls books off the shelf, some covered in glittering pictures, others with heaps and teeter-tracks of words that dance around in his mind, and he loses himself in the wonderful, wonderful stories.

(And he always puts them back on the shelf, exactly so as he found them.)

And he spots it when he's looking over a book with a curious, most mysterious, not-quite-a-boy. Someone has pulled a book from the shelf. And it was not pulled prior.

Jack sets down his book with the curious, mysterious, boy. Twinetender is singing in his mind, urging _caution_ , and _careful_ , and _let's-go-see._

They find the book, neatly perched on the side of a shelf, its pages spread wide. And they find a curious sort of worm, wearing a curious sort of glasses, reading the book in fascination.

"Hello." Says Jack, in fluent caterpillar.

The worm looks up. "Hello." It replies, in not-so-fluent caterpillar. "Are you looking for something?"

"No." Jack replies, switching to glow-worm (for that is what the little fellow is). "But a book was missing, you see."

"So it was." The worm replies. "And so it is here."

Jack looks at the book. It's something to do with butterflies, he thinks. "What are you reading it for?"

The worm pulls himself up tall. "My great-uncle-Qwerty, you see, is a most fascinating sort of Bookworm. And it is my hope that one day, I shall also be a most fascinating sort of Bookworm."

And Jack looks at the little worm, with his big books and bigger dreams. "Good luck, then."

"Thank-you." The worm replies. "I shall try my best, Mister…"

"Jack Frost. And you are?"

"Poi." The worm –Poi- replies.

Jack gives a short bow. "I'll be seeing you then, Poi. And be wishing you well."

He leaves then, leaves the little glow-worm to his reading.

And just maybe, one day, the little worm will have pages made of a thousand reams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name "Poi" comes from QWERTYUIOP, being the last three letters reversed.


	44. Lit In Starlight

Jack stares at the book, still as a whisper –or as a cat before it pouces.

The book stares back, rustling its pages lightly as Jack watches.

 _The Man in the Moon_ , the title declares proudly.

And it is a proud little book, with its rustling pages filled with wondrous colour. It flips through itself for him, showing him one beautiful page after another.

Jack sneaks closer, running a finger along the pictures gently.

(He tries to ignore how somewhere, his heart aches oddly.)

"There are more of you?" He asks.

The book gives a proud flutter, leaping in the air to dance on the wind – who is all too glad to play. It leads Jack past library shelves, coming to light next to a collection of rather heavier books clustered eagerly on the shelf, watching him.

And he runs a finger along their spines, reading the titles slowly to himself. Each bears the name of a guardian proudly stamped on it, and wonderful, colorful things.

But there is no Jack Frost stamped among the titles.

The little book flutters, right in front of his face.

 _Look and see!_ It would say, and nearly seems to sing. _You are not forgotten!_

And Jack gives a laugh, for there he is – marked in one of the corners, from his jacket to his staff to his hair, a laughing starlight child.

"It _is_ me!" he gapes at the books.

And it's more than he's had in ages, and he's wonderfully happy, the hurt is gone from his heart.

Jack's smile grows mischievous. "Anyone want to take a trip to the North Pole?" He asks innocently.

And the rustle of happy pages is all the answer he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to William Joyce, he sends copies of all of his books to the Guardians, either via Jack, or via elf.
> 
> Some inspirations from the Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore


	45. Jack and Sandy

Sandy comes looking for Jack one evening, worry in his eyes and a hurry to his pictograms that is foreign to the little man.

 _Danger. Snake. Help._ Jack manages to pull from the flurry of flickering sand.

"The Lermontoff Serpent?" Jack asks. The snake has been quiet since Pitch's defeat. But not now. Now he rears, seeking out dreams with a vengeance. "Is he after your dreamsands?"

A nod. _Yes._ More symbols. Jack cannot quite make them out, cannot quite trace or understand their flickering shapes.

Something about a giant, he thinks. But Sandy is already tugging at his sleeve.

There is little time available for wasting, it seems.

* * *

 

Sandy wastes little time, taking the lead and guiding the way, as Jack follows close behind.

This word of Lermontoff is troubling. Long has Jack faced the Snake, pulling it from dreams and icing its scales over. But those times, he faced it as himself. Because the children needed his aid, and the Guardians were nowhere to be found, busy with their duties.

This time, however, he will be facing it as a Guardian himself. As he will every time after.

He cannot afford to lose. To retreat. To fail.

The air is silent, as Jack stills the wind, begs it not to speak of their passage. If Sandy's mood is anything to go by, they will need the element of surprise.

 _What's the plan?_ He asks Sandy, using thoughts instead of a voice. _What's going on?_

Sandy starts for a moment. But only one, before he catches on. And he replies, not in pictures, but in thoughts. In a sleepy, dreamy sort of voice that made Jack want to yawn.

_The Lermontoff Serpent is pursuing my friend. My ally. And you have faced the Snake on many occasions, I hear._

Jack muses over the words. _Yeah. I can't deny that._ He replies. _So, who is this friend of yours?_

Sandy's reply is more of a picture than a word, more of a dream than a reality.

 _SaNooze. Seeker of the Dreamsands_.

The air shatters before Jack can reply, shaking with a terrible hiss.

Both Guardians drop to the ground.

Great coils of Snake lie all about, in writhing and twisting heaps. At their center lies SaNooze, pinned by the Lermontoff Serpent. Bags of Dreamsand lie all about, ripped and torn by scale and fang, their contents sucked dry by the Snake.

Fury roils in Jack, fierce as the winter Storms. Pitch is beaten. Sandy is back, alive and whole and well. The children once more dream good dreams.

And here is the Serpent, laying waste to all of their work, all of their hardships.

 _"SERPENT!"_ Jack roars, ice crackling down Twinetender and turning staff into gleaming icy spear. _"YOU GO TOO FAR!"_

The Serpent looks up, drowsy and bloated from his feast of dreams. "Jack Frost." He hisses, rising on his coils. "And the Sandman."

Sandy stands as tall has he can, gleaming with good dreams and with shards of starlight. Silently, strands of dreamsand change into the long whips that make Sandy such a formidable fighter. Jack hefts the spear that is Twinetender.

The Serpent moves, slipping down into a more manageable size. "I am glutted on dreams. And still I hunger for more." It shifts, fixing both with its gaze. "The Master of Dreams, first and foremost, for my feast. And next…" It's eyes burn. "The dreams of the little boy-guardian. My lucky day."

"Those are dreams you'll not be taking." Jack retorts. "Not now, nor ever!"

The Serpent lunges. Jack leaps, cutting deep with the icy blade. Even as the Snake rounds, ready for another blow, the Sandman is there, scorching and stinging the scales with the fury of a shooting star.

Jack does not hesitate, stabbing the spear into tender scales and riding out the writhing coils as the Serpent tries to crush him in its agony.

Great ropes of dreamsand rise, wrapping the Snake and binding it tightly. Even as it tries to buck free of the coils, to reach them and feast, Sandy is already moving with fresh ties, burning into the Snake.

Even so, it is not an easy battle. Jack lays down spines of ice, sharp and strong, mixing them with the dreamsand just as he did with Pitch's Nightmares in Antarctica. They glitter in the coming dawn, raking the Serpent's belly as he tries to bite at Sandy.

The wind is singing as Jack leaps, and rides on its back, driving diamond hard shards of ice into already open wounds. And Sandy has conjured a mighty sandstorm that stings like sandpaper.

And at last, as the sun peeks over the horizon, the Serpent yields, vanishing into a shadow.

It will be back, Jack knows. And he will be ready then as well.

Sandy drifts over to SaNooze, giving the snoring giant a shake. Jack looks over the largish man with a bit of worry. "Will he be alright?" Jack asks.

Sandy nods. For a moment, pictograms flutter over his head, before he gives a silent sigh, and flicks a bit of dreamsand at Jack. _He'll be fine_. Sandy's sleepy voice seems to say. _He just fell asleep, it seems._

Jack chuckles. "Too much dreamsand?"

Sandy picks up an empty coffeepot from the mess. _Not enough coffee._

Not enough, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even Sandy has his helpers. SaNooze is the guy who collects the Dreamsand after Sandy sends it out. Naturally, he's almost always half asleep.
> 
> And the Lermontoff Serpent always makes an excellent villain, when Pitch is out-of-place.


	46. Flee

"Flee."

Someone pokes at her shoulder. She gives a grumble, and rolls over in her bed.

But the poking comes again, more insistent. "Flee. Flee, wake up!"

So she rolls over, blinking away dreams, and looking at her big brother.

Jack is hard to make out in the dimness of the cabin. But he's sitting on the edge of their bed, looking down at her and trying not to be heard over their father's snoring. That much, she can see.

"Why are you awake, Jack?" she whispers. "It's not time to be up yet!"

"I know." Jack replies, keeping his voice low. "But the Moon woke me up – you've got to see this, Flee!"

He pulls her out of bed, and over to the window. Through the murky glass, she can make out the outline of the moon. "It's just the moon, Jack." She says. "Go back to sleep."

"Wait for it." He says.

So she does. And for a moment, the light changes.

"What is it? A cloud?"

Jack shrugs. "Nope. Not a cloud."

They open the door, and step onto the porch. She looks at the sky, and gasps.

It's like someone has laid draperies across the sky, sheets of muslin and calico and linen, fastened with beautiful dyes, and then left them open for the wind to blow about.

"It's beautiful!" She looks at Jack in awe. "What are they?"

"The Northern Lights." He replies, reaching up a hand as if he could touch them. "Neat, huh?"

"Yes." She watches them move, blown about by some celestial wind. "They're amazing."

She doesn't know how long they sit there, watching the lights. Only that she falls asleep, and that Jack carries her back to bed and tucks her in, humming his lullaby quietly.

"Good night, Jack."

He chuckles. "Good night, Flee."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> William Joyce posted this to his twitter one day:
> 
> People called her Flee, because she could jump and run so fast/However, on that fateful day she was too afraid
> 
> It isn't her true name, which is still unknown, but it is a nickname. And its what I've gone with for the rest of my fic, so as to have something to call her without making something up.


	47. Havasok

Mountains are always peculiar. Strong and silent, rarely speaking – if ever. And while the elder ones are well worn, and have something of a kindness to them, it is the young ones, with their sharp edges and crannies and crevasses that one must be wary of.

And while Jack _likes_ the Havasok, they are young and wild as can be, filled with all manner of strange folk.

So he dances, flitting from one village to another, pausing only to throw a few snowballs, or conjure some icicles, or paint every window with fern-frost.

After all, he can always come back later, to play again.

But for now, when he is not painting the houses, or playing with the children, he is speaking to the trees, and hearing their tales.

The forests of the Havasok are not particularly friendly, but even they recognize Jack's authority. Grudgingly.

He stays late one day, long after the windows are frosted, conversing with one tree who has some particularly strange tales about a forest in Siberia, when the night is shattered by a child's scream.

And as moonbeams lance through the branches desperately, calling back and forth to each other in their search, Jack is aware of how _hostile_ the forest is being.

 _Come away!_ He scolds the trees, and the birds, and the beasts. _Do not be causing mischief!_

 _Not us._ They all reply. _Merely one of the were-wolves_. A tree supplies helpfully. _Think nothing of it. It happens quite often here._

Happens often? That children suffer, and the forest does nothing? Fine then. If they won't, then he _will._

Jack leaps from the branches, chasing after moonbeams through the thick dark tangle.

He finds the children huddled in the hollow of a friendly tree, waving sticks and lanterns at the pack of not-quite-wolves that were trying to tear into the hollow.

They can't see him, Jack knows. But that is not a reason to not protect them. For if he does not act, then they will not make the night.

So he lands, even as the moonbeams scatter about and light up the night, chattering warnings aplenty at these were-wolves.

Jack lashes out, sending jets of frost and ice skittering through the air to nip and sting, and force the were-wolves into retreat.

When the last of the were-wolves is gone, Jack peers into the hollow. The children are alive- safe. Not uninjured, for the tallest boy has had his leg badly torn up, and the others all have cuts and bruises. But alive. And they will live.

Jack watches as they peer out of the hollow. As they fix up their injured as best they can, and hobble to town.

It is only when they are safe at home that he turns his attentions to the trees, anger burning in his heart.

 _Where did they come from?_ He asks. And the trees cannot refuse him.

_They serve Shadowbent, who commands the hordes in this day._

Shadowbent. He will not quickly forget the name. _Where is he?_

 _In the mountains._ They tell him. _There is a castle._

Jack takes to the air, the moonbeams around him chattering wildly.

Shadowbent will rue the day he angered Jack Frost.

* * *

 

The castle is not hard to find, especially from the air. Jack land on a nearby peak, studying the castle.

From this far away, though, it will be hard to find his quarry. And somehow, he doubts that Shadowbent will want to talk.

But Jack has the wind, and the leaves. Has the birds and mice, and little crawling creatures. Those who are more than eager to tell him where Shadowbent is.

…not in his castle, apparently. Jack gives a hum, and changes his plan.

The peak he is sitting on is covered with snow, just right for an avalanche. Setting it off is easy, and gives him the perfect distraction.

With the guards busy digging themselves and part of the road out of the snow, it is easy to slip in a window, and easier to find Shadowbent's room.

Carefully, making certain that none can see him, Jack begins layering ice in, under, and over Shadowbent's bedcovers, freezing them into a solid block that will take a week to melt, even with fire.

"I thought a rat snuck in."

Jack spins around.

The man in front of him is odd, and rather more like a tree than a were-wolf. Or a vampire. Jack cannot tell. But there is no doubt as to who he is.

"Shadowbent, I take it."

"Indeed." Shadowbent walks over. "Quite the piece of handywork." He comments, tapping the bed. "What on earth has driven a lad like yourself to set off an avalanche, give my hunters frostbite, and freeze my bed solid?"

"You were trying to hurt kids." Jack replies.

"And this is unacceptable to you, I suppose?" Shadowbent asks.

Jack can only nod.

Shadowbent gives a sigh. "Very well, then." He snaps his fingers, and some big burly were-wolves rush into the room. "Then I suppose we shall be mortal enemies." He points at Jack. "Kill him."

This time, Jack does not stick around to fight.

On the plus side, though, watching the were-wolves change back thanks to angry moonbeams is far more amusing anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word Havasok means mountain in Hungarian.


	48. In Memoriam

The memories are a-whirl in Jack's head, twisting and tangling among themselves like the branches of the Oak of Sorrows. A family. A sister. A mother and a father. And beyond that, older memories too. Memories that he can barely remember, barely grasp or understand, surrounded only by the dark and the cold of the lake, stretching back for what feels like eternity.

So he crouches here, among the tombstones, searching without quite understanding why. Searching for tombstones etched with names and dates from three hundred years ago, from when Burgess and Hawthorne County were still the village of Tanglewood, time and time and time ago.

The names this far are faded, worn away by wind and rain, and even his own snowfalls. He traces words carefully, bumps and grooves on stone, so hard to read now. Night and day pass equally, and Jack continues to search. He ignores the voices of worried moonbeams, ignores the way the grasses and flowers cling to his feet, singing urgent songs.

And it is only by chance that he finds a name, tucked away in a back corner, overgrown with grass and other weeds. His fingers trace it carefully. The name is broken, and scarcely legible now. But it is there.

His mother's name, written here on this scrap of stone.

Almost reverently, Jack begins pulling up the grasses and the weeds, clicking his tongue at them and shooing them away, for games to play later. His heart aches for a moment, startling him.

This is his mother's grave. He knows this, knows that she is buried here, and passed on years ago. But it is suddenly real, and it is raw. And the pain of it hurts, as familiar as the day so long ago when he first awoke, and when he first learned that he could not be seen. The pain of that moment, and the pain of this. They are one in the same.

Tears roll down his cheeks, hot against his skin, and spill into the grass, wasted. With a hiccup, Jack gathers them up off his cheeks, scooping them into a still pook that he presses to his heart.

Saltwater does not like to freeze. It seperates, and the ice is always sweet.

But he is Jack Frost. And he lets his sorrow spill out, lets it spill into his tears and freeze them solid into a shining crystal that is cool to the touch.

He leaves it there, on her grave, set into the stone.

The wind will watch it. The birds and the beasts will be its guardians.

And it will wait for Jack's return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally written in memory of Elizabeth Joyce. I've put my original thoughts from the chapter on Fanfiction.net below, since I'm not certain that I could do a better job of them, even now.
> 
> My personal headcanon is that both the Tsarina and Jack's human mother were named Elizabeth.
> 
> Jack's first memories are of the Dark and the Cold. This can apply to both the pond, and to the time that he spent in Pitch's heart as Nightlight. So who's to say that he doesn't remember that darkness, and has confused it with the pond?
> 
> Tears are water - saline solutions to be precise. Nightlight makes tears solid. And solid water is generally called ice. No one will be able to convince me that Nightlight's diamond dagger isn't really an icicle


	49. Wading Pool

"Alright. You can do this."

Bunnymund waded into the water gingerly, flicnhing as it started soaking into his fur. "It's gonna be alright." He told himself. "Nobody's gonna think of looking for eggs underwater."

"Hey! Bunny!"

Bunnymund jumped, spinning around to see Jack Frost perched on the top of a folded umbrella, grinning down at him.

"What are you doing down there, Bunny?" Jack asked innocently. "I thought you were scared of water. Y'know, it being a Pooka thing."

"I am." Bunnymund retorted, trying to ignore how wet and heavy his fur was feeling, trying to ignore the way it seeped in everywhere and tried to pull him down. "But I have eggs to hide, sp please, Frost, don't do me the favour of reminding me."

Jack jumped down, alighting on the edge of the pool. "So, you thought it would be a good idea to hide eggs on the bottom of a swimming pool, when you're scared of water. Good thinking, cottontail."

"Oh, like you have any better ideas." Bunny gingerly took another step towards the deep end.

Jack rolled Twinetender between his fingers. "Actually..." He straightened, leaping into the air, and landing on Bunny's head, as light as he could. "Let's make it real fun, okay?

He reached out, tracing Twinetender's crook across the water, watching as ice blossomed in beautifl spirals beneath his touch. Slowly, Jack built up layers, sculpting his impromptu raft into a roughly egg-shaped pool floaty.

Bunnymund stared, then grinned. Gently, he put his eggs on the raft, and gave it a push. "Thanks for that, mate."

"No problem." Jack preened. "And the ice will last all day, don't worry. Now come on, there are other eggs to hide."

Bunnymund traced a paw over the water, feeling its horrible wetness. "You don't have to tell me twice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in other news, Bunnymund is still afraid of water. Poor guy.


	50. The Can Man

Grown-ups didn't usually intrigue Jack. Usually. Every now and then, however, there were exceptions.

The wind and leaves, birds and beasts had all been whispering in Jack's ear, telling him odd stories. There was a Man who understood Toy. they said. With uncommon wisdom, and who saw the world as it rightfully was, they said. Someone Jack should be on the lookout for, because this strange man that the local children called the Can Man was almost certain to be able to see Jack.

Not even the moonbeams had been able to resist whispering in Jack's ear.

"Strange-like, the Can Man." they said. "All grown and big and kindly and firm and knowing. Like a moonbeam man he is, Jack. Like MiM - like him a-walking about, picking up soda pop cans, if you please."

So there he was, perched in a curious town (even if the grown-ups of the town thought it was not so curious at all.) on a streetlight, watching the Can Man go about and pick up his soda pop cans.

The moonbeams and the leaves and all of the rest were right, Jack decided, looking at the Can Man's craggy face, at the kindness and wisdom that hid deep within the lines unless you knew how to spot it. This was not an ordinary grown-up.

 _Well, Jack? Will you talk to him?_ Twinetender asked. _Or will you be content to watch?_

Jack smiled. _For now? I'll watch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Ollie's Odyssey


	51. Poetry

They are not. And then, they are.

They melt from the shadows. From out behind trees, from under bushes and behind bits of trash long left behind.

They are nightmares gotten away. Scraps of shadow and of fear. They are the creepie-crawlies, the things that go bump in the night, monsters and creatures summoned from the imaginations of sleeping babes.

As one, they step forwards, surrounding him. They cling to the bark, and writhe underfoot, taking all manner of shape and colour.

There is no fear. No alarm, no panic. No hurried breath that catches in the throat. There is no excitement, either.

Maybe it is peculiar to be so calm against such odds. But try as he might, Jack cannot make himself be afraid.

He spins his staff. He calls to the wind, to the leaves, and to the moonbeams high above. And that is enough.

One large one, something like a worm, moves first, many legs clacking.

He moves next.

There is no hurry here. No rush, or sense of doom drives either side. Neither exertion nor ease. For a moment, the world simply _is._ No here, no now. They have always fought, and only just begun.

Ice blooms against the ground, coaxed into petals and spires, scattering moonbeams as they lance through the darkness to dance among the shadows. Leaves cut and chase, spurred on by the welcoming wind.

He moves from form to form, not rushing or darting as is his way, but flowing, like wind and water and heedless starlight in this strange and wonderful dance.

The moment will pass. Someone will win. But that will matter later. For now, for eternity, this is the time to _be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the video game Ori and the Blind Forest, specifically, the opening cutscene.


	52. Looking Glass

The world of toys is a mirror. Bits and pieces of the worlds of grown-ups and children and Guardians get snarled and tangled together, until one can almost recognize it. Almost point it out, and say "I know this."

Jack knows the world of toys well, better even than North, who lives to make toys (with the occasional Bunny-teasing). For Jack, for all his power to make himself tall or small, and play pretend that he understands grown-ups, is still a child.

So here he is, nice and small, creeping about the toy-made tunnels that were once a beautiful carnival, looking for a piece of that mirror.

Tonight, Jack is looking for the boogeyman's reflection. Zozo the clown.

"He's not here, your 'ighness." one of Zozo's minions tells him. "The Fave fought back, ya see. And that brought the tunnel down on top of everyone, 'cept for the fact that Zozo held it off."

Jack nods. "Right. Thanks."

"No problem." the creature squeaks, all rusty and worn away. "Beggin' yer pardon, yer 'ighness."

It doesn't take long for Jack to reach the surface. Some part of his heart is light, some part that he did not know was heavy.

"Jack."

Fireflies cluster, speaking to themselves in their odd little ways. But tonight, they have a mission, and there is one who needs their help. So they will help, and do their very best (which really is quite a bit.)

"Jack." the voice calls again. "You were looking for me?"

And Jack can see now. See how the fireflies move, reflecting a brave and noble toy, straight where he once was hunched, proud where he once was bitter. And the light seems woven with golden thread, bright and strong and shining.

This is no longer a boogeyman of toys, Jack knows. But something brighter. Something better, and more hopeful.

And while the Nightmare King may never repent, never forgive, it matters little. For in the carnival, as in the world of toys, a reflection need not be the entire truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Certain thoughts and motifs seem to be repeated throughout William Joyce's work, from era to era. In Roly Poly Oly and George Shrinks, it was family and adventure. Over the years, it's slowly gotten a bit sadder. But there's always that hopeful core, that feeling of redemption under the surface.
> 
> Or maybe I'm just reading too much into this. That could be true, too.
> 
> Inspired by Ollie's Odyssey


	53. Musing

The Pitch has a cunning. All sly and slippery, he is a-oozing into dreams and cracks and all manner of shadow-stuff to find all of the night-mares and the bad dreams and the fearing. And the Pitch is smart. Smarter than you think, and he has a knowing that gets into things and he turns them against you as easy as sleeping.

The Pitch, he gets into things, and he doesn't forget them quick. He remembers them. Remembers when the Nightlight-Boy and the Shooting-Star-Captain snuck about in the Tanglewoods. Remembers when the pitch-black stone turned dreams to nightmare men, all ragged and rasping.

And The Pitch, he's a-learning, too. He's a-remembering the first spell, about the Believing, and what it can do. He's a-thinking about how he can use it (and he's a-remembering all those wizardly things he read in those big books so long ago, too.)

So The Pitch, he knows what he's a-planning. Knows that if he wants to win, the Believing has to go.

And for all of their fierce, the Guardians are not quite so fiercely now as they were once ago.

And the Pitch's plan is cunning. Christmas-time is not time yet. And Easter is an almost. And dreams might not be noticed quite-as-quickly. But no Tooth-Fairy-Queen is a very big _right-now._

So he needs to be attacking the fiercely fairy folk first.

The dreaming needs to be next. Without the fairy folk, the dreams are a bit a-fearing.

But The Pitch, he's not expecting the Jack-boy.

Not expecting him all small and fiercely and _there._ But he's cunning, the Pitch. And he figure's out quick what the Jack-boy wants.

But the Jack-boy, there is something's he's got that the Pitch doesn't see coming. When dreams are all a-turned to night-mares, and all things are sadly, and the Pitch is sending out his night-mares, it happens.

The Jack-boy, he _glows._ Night-Light-Bright and all a trembling, he glows. And his staff, it's a-glowing too, bright like daytime, and all a-crackle with ice.

Maybe the Pitch, he figures it out. But even if he doesn't, the Jack-boy, he'll fight back. Bright as day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've rewatched the film several (dozen) times by now. And the moment when Jack basically explodes with light and frost? Pitch looks like he's just figured out who exactly Jack used to be.
> 
> I think that next to Leaves, Moonbeams are my favourite characters to write.


	54. Honah Lee

There is an ache in his heart that he cannot soothe. It has been _so long_ , and he cannot recall now when _long_ began. All that matters is that it _does_ hurt, and it is a hurt that will not go away.

Leaves dance below, calling and coaxing. _Come play, come play, come play!_ they call in their marvelous voices. _Come and play, in mist and wave! Come and play and find your brave!_

But the sorrow is too dread, and hangs all around like a terrible rain. _How_? He asks the leaves. _How can I play? I am forever, and joy will always turn to sorrow._

The leaves fall silent in their voices, deep in thought.

 _Forever!_ one calls, beginning to dance. _Forever, forever, forever and a day! Forever and eternity together must play!_

The others stir, and dance, and spin. _Forever! Forever, alone you are - never! Moon and sun and laughter and glee! Dance together, here by the sea!_

He stirs, and lifts his head. _I don't understand._ Green glints. _I am forever. No other is forever._

The leaves laugh. _Wait and see, here by the sea. Wait, oh great Forever, alone is what you shall NOT be!_

It is hard to trust the leaves. But all leaves have a sort of a wisdom to them, and Autumn leaves the most of all. So he waits, and for the first time in a very long forever, he dares to hope.

"Hello?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Puff the magic dragon.
> 
> What better friend for an immortal dragon of childhood playtime, then a boy who will always be?


	55. Velveteen

All the rabbit can hear is the pitter-patter-drop of the rain. It works its way down trees, and over logs, and into streams, and all of the cricks and crevices of the toy sitting beside him.

The toy gives a small shiver. "What are we waiting for?" It asks.

The rabbit looks at the sky. "A Child." he replies.

The toy looks down at itself, all shabby and well-worn, and more than slightly broken. "No child would want to play with me." It says dully. "I am not a toy for playing with anymore."

"That isn't true." The rabbit replies. "You're a proper toy, you know. You've been loved. Made Real. That matters more to children than playing."

"But only MY child can see that!" the toy cries. "Other children won't want a broken toy. They can't see that!"

The rabbit only smiles. "Jack Frost is not most children." he says gently. "He's much more."

The toy frowns. "More? How?"

The rabbit shrugs, all of his muscles bunching up and falling down. "You'll see. Jack doesn't have favorites."

The toy looks miserable. "All I want is to go home. My child must be so worried."

"I know." the rabbit says. "I know."

The air turns cold. "He's here." The rabbit stands, shaking out his hind legs. He turns to the toy beside him. "It's okay to be hurt and afraid, you know. That's part of being Real. But your child will always love you."

"And Jack?" the toy asks. "What about him? Will he love me too? Or will he forget about me?"

The rabbit looks at the sky, water running down fur as soft as velveteen. "Wait and see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the Velveteen Rabbit, another childhood story about toys, and the magic of believing. It seems to be a recurring theme - albeit a good one.


	56. Memories of Tomorrow

Jack is not where he should be.

He is most certainly not _when_ he should be.

The _how_ is not quite important. Nor is the _why_ , and most definitely not the _what_. But that does not change what _is_. And what is is that Jack is not when he should be.

When he is, he can't quite tell. It's familiar twice over, and different all at once. Maybe he's been here before. Maybe he hasn't. He certainly isn't one to make a habit of time-travel. Naughty, that is.

But he is _here._ He is _now_. And here and now are turning curiouser and curiouser.

There is a ship before the moon. And maybe that's it, Jack thinks. Why this so familiar in that odd again-and-before sort of way. Because he knows that ship. And doesn't.

It's an odd ship, with grand swirls and promenades and nooks for hiding in. But it is also a cruel ship, fierce and jagged, with wicked thorns and scowls and jeering shadows. This ship, this grand, cruel, curious ship is _so very familiar_ , and it bothers him, it picks and it pokes all about inside of him.

It's a part of a thing he cannot remember, wrapped up as it is in the _cold_ and the _dark_ and the _scared_ that is from before he became Jack Frost. Before he even became Jack. And the _cold_ and the _dark_ and the _scared_ -and too, the ship - they are too long. Shadows stretched thin and snapping.

There is a crunch - boots on snow, shoes on leaves - and Jack turns. Sees the children.

And is _Seen_.

They blink. Jack blinks back. -That's proper etiquette in this sort of situation, isn't it?-

The Tallest one -almost properly Tall- rocks back and forth a minute. "You've changed." He says finally.

"Not really." one of the Smaller ones points out. The boy next to her nods. "Not at all." he adds.

And Jack looks at the ship across the moon again, skittering there like cloud. "You know me." He says at last.

"Once." the Tallest one remarks. "Now?" He looks at the other children.

"Does it matter?" the girl asks again. "He's still him, you know."

Once, Jack would have asked. Would have begged, pleaded. Cried out to a voiceless moon to answer. But he has a Tooth Box sitting in his pocket now. Is a guardian, now.

And he could never beg or begrudge these Small Ones. Not now. Never.

"It doesn't matter." He assures them. "I promise."

The absolute youngest of them all wrinkles his nose slightly. "I know one way he's changed." the boy points out. "He got _noisy._ "

That makes them all laugh, and agree.

Jack steals another glance at the ship. Somehow, someway, in that far-off feeling, they are running out of time. There is no chance for questions. For answers.

"Believe." He tells them. "Believe in the Guardians. Believe in each other. Believe in yourselves." _please, please please._ he chants fiercely to himself. To the leaves and the trees and the birds and the beasts, even as he feels himself whisked away.

Believe, believe, believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. This chapter turned out to be completely off the mark. Originally, William Joyce said that Jack would travel through time. As of Book 5, this is not the case. So unless the wibbly-wobbly stuff happens after that?
> 
> I got nuthin'


	57. April Fool

He hums to himself, turning the idea around and about. " _So."_ he tells them in his thinking talk. " _This day- April Fool. It is a day for tricks?"_

Tall William nods. "It's almost as good as Hallow's Eve. It's hard to top Ombric's candies, though."

Sasha nods fervently. "Right. I'm not sure who invented it - Ombric says that he did, but Bunnymund has said the same thing as well, and he can time-travel. Either way, all day on April Fool, everyone in the village tries to out-trick each other. it's a lot of fun."

 _"Tricks. Like Pitch? I'm not certain I like that idea."_ He points out. Pitch's tricks are no fun at all, and put all of the Small Ones in danger.

"No." Tall William shakes his head fiercely. "These tricks are harmless, and don't cause much trouble. It's things like tying a line to one of Mr. Qwerty's books, and pulling it around for a few minutes. Or convincing Ombric's owls to act like bats all day. Or even painting yourself yellow and speaking backwards."

" _I am not thinking I remember ever pulling a trick before."_ He mulls it over. " _What should I do?"_

Sasha shrugs. "Whatever you want. So long as it isn't too much trouble." her eyes sparkle. "And whatever it is, make sure no one knows it was you."

That is a lot of ideas. Around them, the leaves rustle and sing to each other, in their odd little rhymes that are almost like his Moonbeam.

He grins. " _I am having a most tricky idea."_ he tells the two. " _Do you know if Bunnymund has left any of his tunnels open?"_

Sasha and Tall William look at each other, sharing a grin.

_ _ _

There are leaves _everywhere._ One of Bunnymund's whiskers twitches. His nose gives a quick scrunch.

"Why," He asks one of his egg sentinels, "Are there leaves all throughout my warren?"

The Egg sentinel gives a shrug. It doesn't know.

"Splendid." Bunnymund gives a short huff of distaste. "I expect it's to do with April Fool's. I knew I shouldn't have invented it. Seems to just cause problems."

He taps his foot, turning to walk towards the tunnel leading to Santoff Clausen.

"If I find out who filled my warren with leaves, we will have _words._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack always plays tricks - even when he was a Nightlight.
> 
> To Quote: "He could outrun any Moonbeam, and took prankish pleasure in hiding from them" - Nicholas St. North and the Battle of the Nightmare King, p. 106 (in my version).


	58. Friends

She watches Jack carefully, out of the corner of her eye.

He _says_ that he's gotten all of his memories back. That he has nothing left for forgetting.

She doubts that.

She watched that last great clash betwixt Jack and her erstwhile father. She watched as Jack fell, and as he forgot all that he was.

She did not know him well before. Her interactions with the spectral boy that he used to be were limited to watchings and a handful of words (mainly concerning her father).

But she knows Jack quite well. She knows his fey moods, and his mischevious spirit. (Somehow, she doubts that the boy that he used to be would be quite so comfortable with freezing elves or making a game out of the most outlandish ways possible to get himself onto North's Naughty List.)

She knows his melancholy too, and how long he has spent crying to a Moon that cannot - or will not- call back.

And she has not heard him calling in the middle of the night. Has not heard questions about what was, or about why his friends never knew.

So she's quite certain that while Jack may have _some_ of his memories, he certainly does not have them _all_.

She gives a snort, and tells Jack her goodbyes.

She has a bookworm to see. And _speak_ to. Some men are entirely too curious, after all, and read things that would be better left unread.

It would be such a shame for Jack to learn all of the miserable details of his past from a children's storybook, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Emily Jane are friends - of a sort.


	59. Cunning

Pitch wipes the last of the snow and frost off of his coat, giving a sharp shake as the near-maniacal glee begins to wear off.

He knows that light, that was mixed with the ice. Knows it better than anyone.

And the moon's plan becomes sharp and clear as ice in his mind's eye, and Pitch sees the whole of the cunning plan (if indeed it was planned, and not a happy accident).

It always comes down to the one thing, it seems. Nightlight. Or Jack Frost, as his name seems to be now. Always is that spectral boy behind the most key of his defeats, from both of the battles of the Moon Clipper, all the way forwards.

No wonder the moon chose Jack to be a Guardian. Again.

A plan starts to take shape in his mind. Cunning. Clever. And this time, it might actually work. It is an easy matter to slip into the shadows, back to his lair.

If the Tooth Palace is any indication, if his conversation with Jack half an hour ago is supporting evidence, then Jack has no idea who he was. What he's done to Pitch.

It's the work of moments to sift through the numerous tooth boxes until he finds the one that belongs to Jack. Locked tight though it may be, (He's certain that they did that to prevent him repeating the trick of Katherine's tooth. No matter.) it is still a useful tool.

Nightlight would never have sided with Pitch, even without a scrap of memory.

But here and now, as Jack? That might be a different story, so long as he plays his cards right.

Pitch turns the box over in his hands, staring at the picture of the boy on the front. Brown eyes, brown hair. If he didn't know better, he'd never have guessed.

Jack's path is so different from the one that he walked as Nightlight that Pitch nearly laughs. Cynical, surly, and altogether talkative are not exactly traits that Pitch associates with his foe. Where the path diverged, he can only guess. It's probably something to do with his greatest fear, though. One doesn't get afraid of being unseen over nothing.

It's a delightfully wicked idea that he has. Jack, with no memory, no real reason to pick the Guardians over Pitch. Not impossible to get the boy on his side.

Emily Jane has sworn to choose a side should he ever try to replace her. So Jack will not be a Darkling prince, not this time.

But he thinks that the idea of his old foe - of Nightlight, standing by his side, delighting in fear and wickedness and taking up arms against the Guardians, a friend and an equal - that might be an even better revenge than his other ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is your daily reminder that Pitch Black is a cunning fellow, who has scuttled stars before.


	60. Of Things to Come

Thoughts are all a-tumble inside of him, and he's not sure what he wants.

A part of him wants to answer Katherine, to tell her all about the mystery of the Dream Tear, and about Pitch all lurking inside of her thoughts. And another part is afraid. Afraid of what the other Guardians will think, if they know that he took the Dream Tear. Afraid of what Katherine will say.

So he shakes his head no, and tells the others what they want to hear. But he cannot look Katherine in the eye, and the telling of the lie has given him a strange feeling that is not Tall or Small, and twists about inside of him.

He wants to be alone. Needs to think, and feel, without the others watching. Without Katherine. It is the work of a moment to slip out of the windows of Big Root, alone with the wind and the clouds and all of himself.

He circles the globe, fast as a lullaby, from day to night, until he finds himself in the Tangle Woods. There is something comforting about the woods, something welcoming and familiar. and he cannot say if it is because of Pitch, or if it is something else. But the Tangle Woods are an excellent place to think.

There is a melancholy in him, a sadness that seems to spill into the world and dim his light. He pulls out the Dream Tear, examining it again and hoping that it holds answers.

But he only sees what he already knew, and no further truths are forthcoming.

And the weight of his lie to the Guardians still presses in on him, makes him squirm and try to break free of it. He cannot change. But something has changed, and it is as if he is at the edge of a cliff, and the wind will not catch him.

He lingers there, poring over the Dream Tear until dawn begins to break. The others will be expecting him. So he puts away the Tear, and shuts up his feelings inside of himself as best as he can, before leaving for Santoff Clausen.

The frost melts quickly in the morning sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack is an odd fellow. He's changed so much throughout his long history, but who he is on the inside hasn't really shifted at all. Exploring the different facets of his identity at unexpected times during his life is great fun for me.


	61. Anniversary

"Wait, you want me to _what_?"

The North Pole rang with the force of the shout, sending Yetis rushing to catch falling toys and the smarter elves scurrying for cover.

Jack paced anxiously back and forth on the observation deck., glaring at the other Guardians. "Why," he demanded, "Am I suddenly on 'babysit Pitch' duty? Don't I get a say in it?"

North coughed into his fist. "By your own admission, you spend quite a lot of time in Burgess anyways."

"It's my home." Jack deadpanned for a moment. "Of course I'm going to be there. I still don't see how that translates into me babysitting the Boogeyman."

"You do have a lot of free time on your hands." Bunny pointed out from his spot beside the fireplace. "North and I have Christmas and Easter, and Sandy and Tooth get full-time jobs." The ancient Pooka grinned. "Wasn't it you who said that we were the hard work and deadlines, while you got..."

"Snowballs and fun times." Jack finished with a scowl, giving a mock bow at Bunny. "So. You're sticking me with this because I live there, and I have free time, so why not. Is that about right?"

Sandy nodded, while Tooth buzzed her wings hopefully. "It would be a huge favour, Jack."

"And you guys remember what happened the last time I went into the Boogeyman's lair alone, right?" Jack asked anxiously, glancing up at the other Guardians. "Right?"

North gave him a hefty slap on the back that nearly knocked Jack to his knees. "Was a one-time thing. You've got this."

"Fine." Jack sighed, and picked up Twinetender. "But if everything heads south, don't say I didn't warn you.

____

Jack slipped past the twisted and molten rocks that marked the entrance to Pitch's lair, staff raised in defence.

"Come on, Pitch, where are you?" Jack called out into the gloom. "Come out where I can see you!"

 _"I don't think that calling him will work."_ Twinetender murmured softly.

"Maybe not." Jack admitted as he squeezed past a rock. "But it makes me feel better."

The cavern opened up on the same vast expanse that he had seen before, with rough hewn walls and steps leading to who knew where.

"Come on, Pitch, I know you can hear me!" Jack called out. "Don't make me come looking for you!"

The room shook with the echo and rattled the chains of the cages, but no Boogeyman crawled out of the cracks to greet him. Frowning, Jack glanced around the room.

All of the tooth boxes had long since been removed, leaving Pitch's lair feeling barren and swept out. Jack leapt out into space, darting from one cage to the next.

"I don't get it. Where'd he go?"

 _"There's no nightmare sand either. And the Globe is missing."_ Twinetender's statement made Jack look around the room again. The area did look vaguely familiar...

Dropping to the ground, Jack peered at the flagstones, running a finger over a groove worn into the floor. "Well, here's where the Globe _was._ That's a start at least."

Standing, Jack looked around the room again. "But where did Pitch go?"

 _"Perhaps he left."_ Twinetender pointed out. " _He knows that you know where his lair is."_

"I don't think so." Jack darted towards the bridge. "Pitch's put a lot of effort into this place. No way that he would just up and abandon it. It's home.

He darted down another tunnel, raising his staff high enough to shed some light across the stone.

Rough carving peered back at him, hacked and chiseled out, but not yet finished. "See?" Jack pointed out, hurrying down the tunnel. "This part's not done yet."

"Jack, you might want to think about letting the other Guardians know. They'll want to know that the Globe is missing, at least."

"Don't worry about it." Jack waved off his friend's concern. "I warned them that there might be problems. And they trust me to do this. I'm not going to let them down."

Twinetender was silent for a moment. " _Jack, is something wrong?"_

"Wrong?" Jack paused at the mouth of another large cavern. "Why would you think that anything's - WHOA."

The ship hung half-buried in the roof of the cavern, crushed and mangled by the weight of the earth. The tip of its prow was suspended in the air, a lance forever rushing downwards. What remained of the bow was snapped and buckled, and even as Jack looked, it took little imagination to think that the gashes and gouges were the work of a giant, or of massive jaws.

For its part, what remained of the stern was buried in the earth and shadow, so deep that he could not make out where the curves of the ship turned to rock and root.

The entire cavern was still, hung on a single breath and waiting to see what would happen. With Pitch missing, it was as if here the wreck was king, and the rest of the cavern knew it.

It was an odd place for Jack to be. At once, he found himself both rejected and welcomed into this strange and leering world that lurked and crawled at the corners of his memories. Around him, the shadows and the lingering traces of nightmares rustled uneasily out of the cracks, shifting and scraping over the rough stone.

" _Go back, or go in?"_

Twinetender's voice cut through the silence. Wordless and soundless as it was, it hung in the cavern, echoing off of the walls and stirring the shadows.

It wasn't hard for Jack to find an answer. There was no real question either way. The other Guardians had trusted him to track down Pitch and find out what the Nightmare King was up to.

"We go in."

____

Once, the ship had been beautiful. Even now, as he climbed into the shattered hull, Jack could pick out glimmers of gold, and traces of once-elegant whorls working their way along the wreck.

"What do you think?" Jack mused aloud to his friend. "Start at the bottom, work our way back?"

" _It's up to you."_

Jack let more light spill across the floor of the ship, throwing up harsh shadows on the walls.

The remains of cannons lay crumpled in a heap at his feet, half melted together and at once torn apart. Jack grimaced, catching sight of an unlucky soul permanently entombed within the metal. "Do I want to know what Pitch did?"

 _"Probably not."_ Twinetender pointed out. " _For all that he acts the fool, Pitch Black is certainly cunning enough to be one of the world's greatest threats."_

"I don't need help." Jack grumbled, picking his way carefully upwards. "I can do this fine by myself."

" _You made quite a fuss earlier."_

"Being over three hundred years doesn't make me Tall, or all-Knowing." Jack pouted. "Of course I don't want to get stuck with babysitting duty. Where's the fun in that?"

"Is that also why you don't want to ask for help?"

"No. This is about fixing my mistakes. that, and we're not sure if Pitch really is gone. We need to make sure first." Jack pushed his way past a large boulder, trying not to gag on a sudden rush of sick and tainted air. "When was the last time Pitch cleaned this place out? It reeks in here."

A jagged hole had been hacked through the hole of the ship and into the rock, right beside a door that might have once been ornate, but now looked like the stuff of nightmares.

"Okay. Choose your own adventure." Jack muttered. "Fancy door, or stinky hole?"

 _"Fancy door._ _It probably leads to a dead end."_

"Okay, good enough." Jack smirked. "Fancy door, then stinky hole. Got it."

Prying the door open as best he could, Jack worked his way through the gap, gagging as dirt got into his mouth, and worked its way into the crevasses of his hoodie. Pausing for a moment to spit out the dirt, he ran a hand along his mouth to wipe away anything that might remain.

 _"Jack. Look!"_ Twinetender's voice was solemn.

Raising the staff, Jack coaxed light to spill from the bough and peer into the gloom of the old stateroom.

Pitch had been busy in here. Where the rest of the cavern, of the ship, looked and felt empty and unlived in, here it was the opposite. In the middle of the floor, carefully positioned, sat the missing Globe, flickering with the lights of children. Maps of the world hung along the back wall, along with star-charts and maps of worlds that looked like they might have been pulled from a fantasy novel. Pins were stuck here and there in various colours, their meaning unclear.

The walls were lined with cases and displays, some gruesome, others seemingly benign. A bloody dagger was neatly labelled next to a stack of wooden blocks. The dismembered head of a moonbot sat in a position of pride, well polished and with its eyes still flickering feebly.

At the center of the room, just behind the globe, but not quite as far as the maps, lay a shattered staff. Almost unconciously, both Jack and Twinetender gave shudder, and Jack ran a thumb along the healed break that Pitch had made.

What bark had been on the wood had long been rubbed or peeled away, leaving the staff to gleam as white as bone. The staff was broken in three places, all of them frayed and unclean. Here and there, pits and scorch marks had left scars in the wood, and the remains of a wrapping was still fastened to one end.

Almost revrently, Jack ran a hand along the staff. "I wonder what happened?"

In the silence, his voice sounded small, and very far away.

Twinetender gave a hum. " _I'm not sure. It must have been important, though, for Pitch to treat it with such pride."_

Jack gave one last look at the staff before turning to look at the rest of the room. " You know, Pitch isn't the sort of guy I would have pegged as a collector."

" _No? What sort of person were you picturing, then?"_

"I dunno." Jack swung his staff around the room, taking a moment to look at the various displays. "He just didn't come across as very materialistic, I guess."

" _He was possessive, though."_ Twinetender pointed out. " _Very much so. He was utterly convinced that you would join him, back in Antarctica. He didn't even think that you might say no."_

"Really?" Jack rapped on the moonbot's head. "I didn't pick up on that at all."

" _You did have other things on your mind at the time."_ Twinetender pointed out reasonably.

"Right."

Jack paced around the room, lifting what of the maps that he could, and checking behind them for secret passages. "Nothing." He pronounced after studying the room carefully. "I think we can safely check this place off of our list."

" _I'm not so certain."_ Twinetender grumbled. " _There's something odd about this room. I just can't piece it together."_

"Odd?" Jack frowned. "I didn't see anything odd at all. Aside from Pitch's creepy collection, of course."

"Try behind that suit in the corner. Next to the maps."

Jack walked over to the item in question. It vaguely reminded him of a naval officer's uniform, albeit far more ornate and resplendant. A name was stitched on the suit in golden thread, written in a text that Jack could not read.

"Okay. Now what?" Jack asked, puzzled.

 _"There's no dust."_ Twinetender noted. " _It looks about as well cared for and maintained as that moonbot head, or the staff. But it's tucked away into the corner here, as if it's something he wants to forget, but can't bear to."_

"That's...quite the analysis." Jack peered behind the suit, being careful not to damage the material. "You got all of that just from looking at it?"

"Mostly. some of it is guesswork, but other things are from looking at the pattern of the room."

Jack looked back around at the room. "There's a pattern?" He gave a wry grin. "I'm not seeing it."

" _Focus, Jack."_

"Right." Jack looked at the ancient uniform one more time. "I still don't see anything out of the ordinary, though. Just a really old uniform."

Jack let the fabric drop back. "Okay. Now we're done here. For real this time. Let's check out what's down that hole.

" _Very well."_ Twinetender gave a mock grumble. " _Lead the way."_

_____

The hole in the wall didn't lead too far, fortunately, opening up into a slightly smaller cavern than the last two. If Pitch's old lair had felt empty, and the ship had felt lived in, then this cavern was most definitely _alive._

The air was thick with Nightmare Sand, pouring down in streams and twisting about into the phantoms of screaming horses with burning eyes, a maelstrom of anger and torment.

It whistled and hissed, scraping at the walls and the mouth of the tunnel, forcing Jack to step back.

"Wow." It seemed like an understatement. "I guess Pitch is definitely still here."

 _"I stand corrected at that._ "

Jack pulled up his hoodie tight, and took a deep breath, gripping Twinetender tightly. "Here goes nothing." And he leapt out into space.

For a brief, terrifying moment that lasted forever, he couldn't see. The Nightmare Sand was like a living thing, filled with a terrible rage that threatened to engulf him, to erase everything that had ever been Jack Frost and whatever else before.

Jack closed his eyes as tightly as he could, trying not to even breathe. The sand stung his face, and filled his ears with voices, laughing, crying, sobbing, screaming, shrieking howling cackling tauntingmockingfranticwithworryandtakethebabyandgetawaykeephimsafesaveyoursisterand _runrunrunrunrun-_

" _Jack!"_ Twinetender's voice was panicked, calling out to him " _Jack! Hold on! Fight it, Jack_ " or was it Flee, so long ago on the pond calling to him " _Jack, I'm scared, what do we do there's a monster Jack please do something jaCK!!!"_

Jack reached out, flailing blindly in the darkness. Something, anything, to drive back the darkness that was trying to swallow him up.

A hand reached out and took his, soft and kind and surprisingly human. It pulled him forwards, pulled him out of the maelstrom and into a place of calm.

Brushing the Nightmare Sand out of his eyes, Jack blinked, looking up at his rescuer.

"Pitch."

The Nightmare King gave a savage grin, though it seemed to lack it's usual bite. "Jack Frost. You've been snooping."

Jack looked at the swirling maelstrom of Nightmare Sand. "Did you expect anything else?"

Pitch sat down on a snub of rock that looked like it had been cut once. "Not particularly. I took the liberty of cleaning up for you."

"I noticed." Jack nodded up at the Nightmares. "Nice trap."

Pitch only gave a hollow, barking laugh. "As amusing as it would have been, I'm afraid I can't take credit for that."

"Can't control your own Nightmares?" Jack teased.

"I've been having a bit of a bad day." Pitch looked sour at the very thought. "It makes it...difficult...to concentrate on matters."

"In other words, you're stuck here."

Pitch nodded at Jack's words. "Indeed. For now. Rest assured that I haven't given up. This is but a minor setback. Next time, I won't save you."

Jack gave a sigh of relief, watching as Pitch opened a path out through the Nightmare Sand. "Good. You suddenly having an inexplicable change of heart would be just plain weird."

"Get going, Frost. I can't hold this for long at the moment, and neither of us wants to be trapped in each other's company for very long."

Jack nodded and flew towards the opening. Right before he left, he turned around and looked down at Pitch. "Why did you save me?"

An undescribable look passed over Pitch's face. Pity? Fear? Regret? Longing? It was a look that was so very old, and Tall, and unKnowable to Jack.

"Call it...Nostalgia."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally posted on the one-year anniversary of the fic, hence the title.
> 
> Pitch has his good days and his bad days - by which, of course, is meant that some days he is more good, and others he is more evil.


	62. Ora E Sempre

This forest is _Old._

It's the first thing that he notices, flitting into the gloom. Every single rock and tree is ancient, their memories stretching back a world's age. Here and there, the chirp of birds or the stirring of a beast breaks the calm, before the forest settles back into quiet.

The shadows are just the sort of place that Pitch likes to make his mischiefs, with the way that the branches pull and tug on sunbeams, coaxing them into merry games in the canopy. If Pitch has fled anywhere after his defeat, it might be here.

The trees would know. The birds and the beasts would know. So Nightlight perches upon the branch of a sleepy old elm tree, asking it if it's seen the Nightmare King with his thinking-talk.

The tree is a long time in replying, humming and groaning to itself. The answer that Nightlight receives is both comforting and disheartening. The Nightmare King has not walked beneath it's boughs, nor have its nymphs been troubled.

Maybe... The Elm pauses for a moment. Maybe the Woodsman will know.

The Forest stirs. Breathes. The trees rustle with their talk, and even the birds seem alert. All take up the song, until the forest fairly hums with the words.

 _Ask the Woodsman,_ it sings.

 _But where does one find a woodsman_? The thought spills out unbidden, a question. There are many woodsmen, after all. _How to find the right one?_

 _At the heart of the forest._ The trees sound faintly amused, as if caught up in some great game. _Go to the heart of the forest._

So Nightlight presses on, deeper and deeper into the forest. And every living thing seems to hold it's breath, to pause, and to see what will happen.

There is no ceremony to the heart of the forest. No deep grandeur, no great place of refuge. Only a small clearing, a break in the copse big enough to be comfortable, and small enough to be personable.

And within that clearing, a Man.

Nightlight pauses on the edge, rocking back and forth on a branch. Moonbeam coaxes and prods. Why the delay? Must Pitch not be found? Be stopped?

Yes. Of course. There is no greater task than stopping Pitch. And yet, there is something about this Man, something strange and untouchable.

Nightlight drops to the ground in silence, walking slowly into the clearing.

The Man does not look surprised, or alarmed, nor anything but faintly amused. "You've arrived."

Nightlight nods, stepping forwards slightly. There is a Tallness to this Man, and a great Knowing hidden deep within kindly eyes. Even with his thinking-talk, Nightlight cannot bring himself to speak, though the Man would certainly hear him.

"You've come looking for Pitch. For the Nightmare King."

"Yes."

The sound of his own voice startles Nightlight. It is rare that he should speak. Rarer still with so little to say. But for what little he knows, it is plain to see that this is a Man for talking to.

"Do you know who I am, child?" the Man asks, stroking at his beard. "Do you know my name?"

Nightlight shakes his head, holding back the words that want to spill out.

The Man only smiles, his eyes crinkling. "I am called Ak. Master Woodsman of the World, and King of Wild Things. And you have no need for fear, child."

There are a thousand things on the tip of Nightlight's tongue, more words waiting to be said than he ever thought he could ever have in a lifetime. Only a few make it out. "Pitch isn't here."

The Woodsman confirms the thought, nodding. "He is not here, nor is he in any of my forests. No tree, no flower, no bird or beast or crawling beetle has caught sight of him. Nor have the fairies, or the nymphs, or the knooks, or the ryls reported any trouble.

The Great Ak looks over Nightlight, a strange look on his face. "Take great care, child, in your quest. But for you, there are no children among our kind, nor have there ever been. Should you ask, you will find aid wherever it is looked for.

Nightlight springs into the trees, bowing. It is a strange and auspicious meeting, and leaves a strange feeling lurking in Nightlight's heart. All seems poised on the edge of a cliff.

Who can know where it leads?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From my notes on Fanfiction.net:
> 
> If you ever get the chance, I would definitely recommend The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus, by L. Frank Baum (The Oz books). It has passed into the public domain, and has received two adaptations, one in 1985 by Rankin-Bass, and an animated one in 2000.
> 
> Surprisingly, the two stories blend together fairly easily, sharing a lot of details. To that extent, and thanks in part to a lack of geographical details, I'll post the point of divergence below.
> 
> In the Life and Adventures of Santa Claus, the Great Ak came across a human baby abandoned at the edge of the Forest of Burzee. He gave this child to a lioness to raise, but a nymph ended up taking him in as her own. In this continuity, that baby was North, and the nymph never took him in.


	63. First Meetings

There is a strangeness to-night in Santoff Clausen. Not Petrov, nor Bear, nor even the Spirit of the Forest have spoken of it, and the people act as if nothing is amiss. But the leaves of Big Root are all a-shaking, and Nighlight can hear laughter in the branches.

 _What do you think that it is, my Nightlight-boy?_ The moonbeam in his diamond dagger asks. _Is it the work of the Pitch, are you thinking?_

 _I am thinking so._ Nightlight replies with his thinking-talk. _I am afeared that Pitch has thought of a terrible new sort of a trick._

Together, they dart forwards, creeping carefully into Big Roots branches. Here and there, slim figures climb about, pausing now and again to take a twig from the grand old oak.

 _They're breaking Big Root!_ Nighlight isn't certain if the cry is Moonbeam's or his own. Turning as swiftly as he can, he siezes the nearest figure, dragging them out of Big Root with a startled cry.

The thoughts of the other Guardians are awhirl in his head, but Nightlight pays them no heed. Swift as starlight, he brings up his staff and the diamond dagger to point at the invader's chest. In the moonlight, it looks to be a rather odd sort of a stick, if one had arms and legs and walked about.

The sticklike fellow rises to his feet, just as North bursts out of Big Root in his sleepwear.

“Nightlight!” he booms happily. “Who is this strange man that you have caught for us? One of Pitch's men?”

“He is nothing of the sort.” Ombric proclaims indignantly from behind North. “He is one of the residents of Santoff Clausen.”

The old wizard looks at Nightlight, eyes stern. “Now, let's let the fellow up, and head inside for some hot chocolate and a few explanations.”

Nightlight lowers his staff, looking curiously now at the stick-man in front of him. Not an enemy, if what Ombric says is so. But then why was he hurting Big Root?

Ombric hurries them all inside, and mutters a few words to his owls that Nightlight cannot make out. As the owls head out of the windows, Ombric busies himself with four mugs of hot chocolate. Nightlight takes the offered drink, and sips it politely.

“Now for introductions”. Ombric declares once everyone has been seated. “This fellow is named Twinetender. He and his people are responsible for planting seeds and shoots from Big Root across the world.

Twinetender nods happily at Ombric. “Yessir.” the stickman replies. “We use the shoots as arrows, you see. It lets us cover a great deal more ground than a normal sort of planting.”

Ombric chuckles. “I believe that is what had you confused, Nightlight. Not to worry. The loss of a few twigs doesn't actually hurt Big Root at all. It's a little bit like getting a haircut.”

Nightlight runs a hand through his hair. His hair doesn't grow anymore than the rest of him. Losing even a little bit would certainly be a bit more alarming than what Ombric is implying.

North drains his hot chocolate in a single gulp. “Well! Glad that it wasn't Pitch causing a problem. I'll head back to bed now.”

Ombric nods. “I as well. Have a good night, Nightlight. You as well, Twinetender.”

Both of the Tall Ones head off to sleep, leaving Nightlight, Moonbeam, and the stickman alone in Big Root.

 _Sorry._ Nightlight says in his silent speech to Twinetender.

 _Think nothing of it._ Twinetender replies in kind. The thinking-talk catches the child off guard for a moment. Twinetender winks. _Would you like to watch us?_

Nightlight thinks for a moment.

_I am thinking that I would like to be watching._


	64. Amnesia

It is Flee who finds the boy, wandering through the Tangle Woods on a misty evening. He is soaked to the bone, and warm to the touch. She could leave the boy, let him wander. But the thought is gone before it appears, and she takes him by the hand and leads him back to the cottage.

She watches as they peel off his wet clothes -strange clothes they are, almost glistening, almost a-glimmering – and scrub him clean. Watches as they trim his hair out of his eyes, and tuck him into a warm bed.

She does not miss her parent's hushed whispers, or the way the boy's body shakes with fever.

Her papa has to go into town the next day, and her mama cannot be spared from the chores that still need tending to. So it is Flee who sits by the boy's bedside, tending to him. He needss looking after, after all.

It is not an easy task, to look after him. He sleeps often and eats little. When he does wake, he speaks in strange tongues that she does not know, and his eyes are glazed over, ever so far away from her. Her mama says that his fever has made him mad.

It is two days after they find him that the boy's fever breaks.

“What's your name?” Flee asks him.

The boy furrows his brow. “I... don't know.”

“I should tell Mama that you're awake, then.”

His eyes focus on her. “Alright.”

There are more whispers that night, when her papa comes back. They're important whispers, she thinks, because the boy cannot remember anything. There is a word for it, her papa says, losing all of your memories. But he does not know it.

She looks at the boy, and knows that like her, he has heard every word.

The next morning, she decides that she is tired of calling him 'the boy'. Even if he cannot remember his name, he still needs one. So she sits on the boys bed, and pesters him with names.

“Leeroy.”

The boy's mouth quirks up into a smile. “I don't think that I am a Leeroy.”

“All right then.” She chews her lip, trying to remember all of the names that she has heard. “How about Cuthbert?”

“Definitely not.”

“Easter? Or how about Aster?”

That gets a furrowed brow. “No, I don't think so.” the boy says at last. “It feels... taken.”

Flee beams at that. “Maybe you knew an Aster, then. But you still need a name. Septimus?”

He smiles at that. “That's a bit complicated. Maybe something simpler.”

“At least we're making progress.” she tells him, sticking out her tongue.

“That we are.” He admits.

“What about Lewis?” She asks. “Or Paul, or Amos?”

“A bit boring.” he muses. “Not bad names, the length is nice, though.”

“How about something like Fowler, or Oliver, or Jackson, then? Those are bit more exciting.”

The boy swings his legs over the side of the bed. “I think that I like Jackson best. It's still a bit long, though.”

Flee grins. “Jack, then. For short.”

He smiles back at her. “It fits, too. I'm like a Jack-in-the-box. All of my memories are locked away, and who knows when they'll spring out.”

That evening, her parents are surprised and pleased to find out that they've managed to work out something to call Jack.

Her father gives a long look at her mother, and then at Jack. “We've been looking to try to find your family.” He tells the boy. “But no children fitting your description have gone missing, or been stolen. I am afraid that we may not be able to find them, especially considering your lack of memories.”

Jack's face falls slightly at that. “I... thank you. For looking. I hadn't even thought to.”

Her mother clears her throat. “You're welcome to stay for lodging here until your memories return, if you'd like. Or we could take you to the chapel, and speak to the pastor.”

Flee grips Jack's arm tightly. He has only been there a few days, but already, she hates the thought of him leaving. Seeing the pastor is a good idea, she knows. It's easier than working on the farm, and he might get his memories back faster too. He could even look for Aster, whoever Aster is.

“I think I'd like to stay, if that's alright.” Jack says. “I need to repay you for looking after me, after all.”

Flee can see the surprise on her parent's faces at the answers. Can see the relief. But somehow, for a moment, none of that matters. Because for now, Jack is staying.


	65. MoonDream

It is rare for Jack to dream. Most often, there is far too much to do. People to watch, games to play, snacks to be stolen...

But every now and again, Sleep beckons, and Jack dreams. His dreams are strange, and often wondrous things that fill him with a hundred possibilities, and many more ideas for games and fun.

This dream is not like those. In some ways, it is more of a memory. But there is all strangeness to it, and he is almost certain that it has never happened. But it pulls somewhere at him, and it makes his heart ache badly with the what – if of it all.

He is content, and happy now with the life that he has. And he would not trade it for the world. He likes teasing Sascha and William-the-Youngest (now no longer the _absolute_ youngest), and playing with their children. Likes tracking down Petter and Fog, and seeing what new thing that they have dreamed up for North.

He likes seeing Bear, now the supreme commander of North's Most Royal Polar Company, and joining him for his exercises. Likes dropping in on Ombric unexpectedly, and seeing when the wizard has gotten himself up to this time.

Would it be better, he wonders, if his life was more like the dream? To know clearly of his past, and be closer to his friends? To Katherine? To trade one adopted family for another? To have certain victory over Pitch, and lose all that he has attained in the here-and-now?

It's hard to say for absolute certain, if one or the other would be better. But as far as Jack is concerned, the way that things have turned out right now is pretty good.

He forgets his dream almost as swiftly as it came. There are games to play, and foes to face. And all the time in the world to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of this chapter, both versions will be updated together.
> 
> This also marks the point where I'll be embracing a more non-canon take on things. Partly because the books are now complete, and partly because, as much as it pains me to say it, there are parts of Book 5 that I disliked.
> 
> I have a couple of chapters to write, but requests and prompts are currently open. Hopefully, it'll be a kick in the pants that gets me writing a bit more frequently (aka 61 chapters in one year, and then about 4 over two years.).


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